


we are not beautiful

by ProsperDemeter



Series: this is how you fall in love [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Batfamily, But will be, Conner Kent pov, Conner is a besotted mess from day one, Detective Tim Drake, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/M, Gen, I can't write action scenes, I ignore canon a lot, Idk what i'm doing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Origin Story, Smart Tim Drake, Tim Drake is not yet Robin, eventually, how does one tag friends, shifting pov, typical Batman violence, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: "Commissioner Gordon's already explained the process to you, kid. There's no evidence to prove your parents aren't on that trip they told you they'd be on."The boy, Drake, sat up taller with shoulders squared. "I told you -""You're a fifteen year old kid," the officer insisted, clucking his tongue. "You don't even know what you're talking about.""How much of your job do I have to keep doing for you -"
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Everyone, Batfamily - Relationship, Dawn Granger/Hank Hall, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Koriand'r & Kon-El, Team Family - Relationship, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Kon-El & Garfield Logan, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: this is how you fall in love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174082
Comments: 58
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [censored](https://archiveofourown.org/users/censored/gifts).



> I play fast and loose with all canon at all times but this story has been fighting me since Conner showed up season one. A healthy idea of what happened in Titans is suggested but not really needed so long as you accept that it's an alternate universe. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick one shot but the plot took over so here we are. Suffering through my shit writing.
> 
> There is virtually no chance at all of this happening in canon so this is my literal "a girl can dream" fic.
> 
> Title taken from Beautiful People by Ed Sheeran and Khalid

Conner had met a lot of what he could, objectively, refer to as beautiful people. He may have been born little over a year ago but Dawn had said he was what most people would say was _attractive._ Hank had looked only mildly put out by the admission but he had agreed when Conner had tilted his head in his direction. Kori called Dick beautiful - in that sultry way she so commonly spoke about him. Like her own attraction to the man was shocking, confusing, and more _big_ than the princess wanted to let on. Dick was someone that almost everyone found beautiful, Conner thought, and Dick, in turn, found most people attractive too. Gar and Rachel thought the other was the pinnacle of beauty and Conner thought that, if Jason would allow himself such thoughts, he would say that Rose was the prettiest of them all. 

But Conner… Conner had never seen anyone quite like the boy that was sitting next to him in the middle of the Gotham Police Department precinct. "What do you think they're talking about?" Gar asked from the corner of his mouth, arms crossed stubbornly because Gar _hated_ being left behind. 

Dick, Kori, Dawn and Hank had all but disappeared into the red headed woman's office with the door tightly shut. Conner could listen in, if he wanted to, but Kori had made him promise he wouldn't and Dick had had that _look_ that said he would be extremely disappointed if Conner didn't listen. And Conner didn't _want_ to disappoint Dick. "Probably our next murderous bad guy." Rose drawled from Gar's other side. She also had her arms crossed. 

The boy Conner was sitting next to didn't even glance up from his slumped over position on his phone. Perhaps this was what constituted as a normal conversation in Gotham? Because it certainly wasn't a normal one that Conner had overheard in Los Angeles and Kori had told him that it would be very bad for random people to overhear them talking about their… differences. So to speak. 

It must have been a Gotham thing because none of the police officers, citizens or those being carted off in handcuffs even glanced their way. Except at Gar. Dick had said, dryly, "it's the green hair" and Gar had looked disgruntled. Conner didn't understand but it didn't seem as though _now_ was the appropriate time to ask. The woman the others had trailed after walked with a small whir coming from her leg and Conner was sure that it was something that only he could hear. Or it was more normal than he thought it was even if no one else had a whir when they walked. 

"Can't you…?" Gar pointed towards his ears and then the glass office a floor above them that they were sullenly staring up into. 

Conner bit his lip instead of answering. Rose rolled her eyes and scoffed, or, perhaps, Jericho did. Conner didn't understand her - _them_ either. "He's too scared to let down _Dick_ to do it." She said Dick's name as though it was meant to be an insult. Dick always looked mildly put upon whenever anyone made that quip. 

She wasn't wrong though.

Conner _really_ didn't want to let him down. 

Half the reason the team had even come to Gotham was to, apparently, talk to Bruce Wayne about one half of Conner's DNA. The other half Dick hadn't disclosed to them but Conner knew it had something to do with Jason's sudden jarring lack of communication with _anyone_ . He didn't know if the Batman had called them in or if Dick's saving people instincts had started going off but, whatever it was, was partially why the adults were up _there_ and Gar, Rose and Conner were down in the bullpen. 

Next to the very beautiful boy. 

Conner really wished Kori had warned him that humans could be so… _something._ Conner also wished Rachel was with them instead of on an island full of warriors. She always had an other worldly ability to get Dick to not hold his cards so tightly to his chest. And her and Kori working together could really make the man give in to almost anything. If Rachel couldn't she could at least distract Gar. The jiggling of his leg was extremely distracting. 

Up in the office Dick sat down in a leather chair heavily, folded in on himself and hid his face from view. Kori had a hand steady on the back of his neck, Dawn and Hank had stepped closer to each other and the red headed woman reached a hand out to squeeze one of Dick's in her own. 

It wasn't good news. Whatever they had been told.

Gar and Rose noticed it too, if they way their both stiffened was anything to go by. 

Conner shot his gaze back to his boots and frowned. He didn't want to let Dick down but, really, would the man deem it something they needed to know? Gar seemed to think he wouldn't. Apparently Dick didn't have a good track record of being _open_ about things. "Mister Drake," a very tired, very old police officer sighed and stopped in front of their row of chairs. The boy that sat beside Conner finally looked up, quirked a tiny smile when he caught Conner's side eye and placed a perfectly blank expression on his face when he looked back at the officer. "What happened now?" 

The man sipped slowly at his coffee after his question. "My parents are missing Officer Vincenzo." The boy had the same polished accent Dick did only he seemed to pull it off better. "And while I know GCPD is incompetent I don't really understand why you're ignoring the mountain of evidence I've already given you." Gar's eyebrows shot right up into his green hairline and he shared a wide eyed look with Rose who tried to muffle a laugh into her shoulder. 

Officer Vincenzo stiffened and scowled. "Commissioner Gordon's already explained the process to you, kid. There's no evidence to prove your parents _aren't_ on that trip they told you they'd be on." 

The boy, Drake, sat up taller with shoulders squared. "I _told_ you -" 

"You're a fifteen year old kid," the officer insisted, clucking his tongue. "You don't even know what you're talking about." 

"How much of your job do I have to keep doing _for you_ -" 

"Listen, kid." Officer Vincenzo snapped and a little bit of coffee spilled over the rim of the mug and onto his shoe. He didn’t seem to notice. "Jack and Janet disappear all the time and they _always_ come back. You've never given a shit before." 

"Because they've never _disappeared_ before." Drake said it with a confidence Conner wished he felt about anything. He sat stubbornly, chin tilted upwards with the sort of aristocratic arrogance Conner had seen Kori have when arguing about dinner options and pulling rank at Dick to get sushi over Indian. "The _implications_ -"

"The implications are that if your parents weren't _rich,_ social services would have already picked you up for the length of time they leave you alone." It was the redhead from before that said it, but her lips were settled into a smooth, small smile. Her eyes looked sad, though. Dick was trailing a step behind her which, Conner found odd since Dick never trailed behind _anyone_ unless it was Kori. Or Donna. He used to trail behind Donna in the brief time Conner had known her. Drake pursed his lips and lowered his chin, just a little, and Conner thought he looked better that way. More like the average human he apparently was. Dawn and Hank had stopped beside Rose's seat and Kori was standing close enough to Dick that their shoulders brushed. She shook her head at Conner's curious glance and smoothly squeezed Gar's shoulder. "Tim," the woman continued, her voice losing some of it's bite. "I know you're worried. And trust me, we're looking into it but you have to trust us to do our job." 

The boy's shoulders dropped. " _All_ of you are doing your job?" 

"All of my officers, yes." 

His shoulders dropped even more. "Only the officers?" Dick's mouth twitched but the redhead didn't flinch at all. 

"This isn't a big enough problem for us to call in Batman." 

"Yet." Drake, Tim, corrected and then stood, brushing his jeans in one fluid motion. "Listen if you won't ask for help _I_ will." 

Dick's mouth twitched again. Conner frowned and Kori elbowed him sharply. "The GCPD is very busy, Tim." 

"Commissioner Gordon." Tim was short, not incredibly short but noticeably compared to even Gar. He seemed taller though, in the way he held himself. "Tell me, have you found Jason Todd yet?" 

Rose's head snapped to him and then to Dick. Gar's had gone straight to Kori and Dick's reaction was so out of character that a stone settled into Conner's stomach at it. Tim stared at Dick too, as though the way his eyes had dropped sharply to the ground was answer enough. He rolled his lips and nodded once, sharply. "You know he's okay right? Physically?" He said the words to Dick but Commissioner Gordon sidestepped her way smoothly to block him from view, a thunderous look on her face. 

"Go home, Tim." 

"I know Bruce Wayne bankrolls your entire political career," Tim, though, apparently wasn't done. "But if powerful people in _my_ community started going missing I would be a bit more concerned about _them_ than I would be a runaway." 

Unsurprisingly it was Hank that broke first. 

Surprisingly, it was Commissioner Gordon that stopped him from stomping his way into the kid's space. "I'll have an Officer escort you home." She spoke in short, clipped vowels. 

Tim Drake snorted. "Don't bother," he stared at her for another moment before sharply pulling his gaze away to look at Dick instead. "I'll find my own way home." Tim scuffed his shoes against the ground and Conner only then noticed how much they didn’t _match_ what the boy was wearing. They were old, scuffed up and dirty dark blue things with writing on the white of the soles. Handwriting. They didn’t come with that on them. The shoes were out of place against the sleek lines of his pants and button down and the small curl to his dark, thick hair. “It’s a pity Robin’s not here to help get Batman back on track.” 

Dick met his gaze with his own, slow and calculating and for a moment no one breathed. Conner worried for the smallest amount of time until Dick finally spoke. “I’ll see you at dinner, Babs.” He touched the Commissioner's elbow and dropped the boy’s probing gaze. Tim Drake seemed upset with the brush off and Conner heard a hitch from his breath. “Guys come on.”

Gar stood, Rose only a breath behind him, and Conner moved slower. 

Heroes were supposed to help. 

So why weren’t they helping? 

\--

Wayne Manor was the biggest, fanciest place Conner had ever been but his memory told him he had seen some much more impressive places. Or that the two halves of his DNA had. Conner hadn’t actually seen anywhere more impressive. “Do we get to see the Batcave?” Gar asked excitedly and toed off his shoes by the front door immediately after Dick did. Conner tried to do the same but the laces on his boots stopped them from coming all the way off. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he bet down to undo the laces. “I would _love_ to see the Batcave.” 

“No.” Dick said it with the same teasing smile he always used when Gar asked him something about Batman. Conner wondered if he was purposely cagey or if it was just part of who he was. Kori rolled her eyes and waited in the doorway until Conner straightened up. She linked their arms together as they walked. It was comfortable to have her nearby. Kori understood certain things about him more than the others. 

Dick had let them in without ringing the doorbell and Conner would have believed they were alone if he couldn’t hear someone moving around in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he were actually meant to hear someone moving around or if that was farther than normal people could hear. He said nothing about it either way. Hank and Dawn had broken off when they left the precinct, begging off to do _something_ that they wouldn’t say but they had taken Rose with them only when they asked. “Do you guys really have a dinosaur in there or is that just a rumor?” Gar asked with his typical excitability. 

He smiled at Conner over his shoulder and Conner smiled back, reflexably. Dick said nothing in response. 

“Is Jason missing?” Conner asked instead and regretted it almost immediately with how Gar’s smile slid quickly off his face. Conner liked it when Gar smiled. Conner liked it when _anyone_ smiled. 

“No,” Dick paused in the hallway, though, head bowed. “He quit.” 

Conner frowned. 

“Does that mean there’s a vacancy, then?” Gar joked weakly. “Because I’d like to toss my name in as Robin if Batman’s taking applications.” 

Conner hadn’t been aware that being a hero was something that someone could quit. He hadn’t thought it was something Jason would _want_ to quit. “We’re here to find him?” Because that was what it had sounded like. In the precinct. 

“We’re here to stop him.” 

Because that wasn’t ominous at all. 

Kori squeezed his arm and Conner swallowed. Gar’s arms instantly crossed his chest. “Stop him from what? Exactly?” 

Dick didn’t say anything but, Conner supposed, Dick didn’t _have_ to say anything. Not that the answer was obvious because, Conner thought, nothing involving Dick was _ever_ obvious. “Master Dick,” The man in the kitchen brushed his hands off on an apron, his voice softly accented and eyes smiling. “You should have rang the bell.” 

Dick suddenly looked his age, younger and overjoyed. He smiled back, eyes sparkling at the older man. “Hey Alfie.” They embraced, and it was short yet tight. “I brought some friends.” 

“I figured you might.” The older man hummed and held out a hand for all of them to shake, starting first with Kori. “Princess Koriand’r.” He pecked her knuckles and Kori’s answering smile was kind, yet tense. The older man balked, for a moment, at Conner. “Mister Kent?” 

Conner’s insides twisted. “Conner.” He was careful not to squeeze the hand too tightly. 

“Garfield Logan.” Gar introduced on his turn. “But you can call me Gar.” 

“Of course, Mister Logan.” 

Dick ducked his head to cover his laugh. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s…” 

“The butler.” 

“Family.” Dick corrected with a small glare. 

Alfred Pennyworth patted his shoulder gently and hummed again. “Does Master Bruce know you’re here?” 

“I tried calling him.” Dick’s shoulder slumped. “But he won’t answer.” 

“No,” Alfred sighed. “I suppose he wouldn’t. The rooms are already set up.” 

“Thanks, Al.” 

“A _butler_.” Kori teased as they walked up the stairs, as usual following behind Dick like a pack of lost dogs. Speaking of, Conner desperately missed Krypto. Dick had said he couldn’t come along and Conner had felt terrible leaving him behind with a neighbor to watch. 

Dick threw her a look over his shoulder, cheeks just a little bit red. “Don’t.” 

Kori laughed, prettily. 

\--

“Dick,” Conner asked that night, once dinner was over and the rest of them had found their bedrooms and fallen asleep. Conner had waited up for him because Dick always seemed like the pinnacle of good advice in the time Conner had known him and Conner _desperately_ felt as though he needed some. Dick hadn’t said where he was going, but he had disappeared with Bruce Wayne and Commissioner Gordon after dinner and Conner hadn’t been able to hear them in the mansion all night. Dick stopped outside of his door and he looked tired in a way Conner hadn’t seen on him before. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Dick stepped into the doorway, leaned his hip against the wood and tilted his head. He looked, almost, like he had fit in the big manor once but now it was something he could barely function in. Conner would say that he understood but he didn’t. “Did you wait up?” 

Waiting up insinuated that Conner had purposely stayed awake when Conner was, unfortunately, barely even tired enough to catch a nap. “Kori did.” Because Kori had. He had heard her talking with Alfred the butler down in the sitting room for the past few hours. 

Dick seemed almost startled by the observation and glanced over his shoulder at the room that was designated as hers before looking back. “What’s up, Conner?” 

“That boy in the precinct. Why won’t you help him?” 

The silence was long and calculating. Dick didn’t have an answer. Or at least he didn’t have one that _he_ considered good either. “Barbara,” he started and then stopped. “Commissioner Gordon,” he continued and then shook his head. “Barbara doesn’t think there’s an actual issue. She said the kid’s parents always duck out for months on end and, if they didn’t fund half the city, she would have arrested them for child endangerment by now.” 

“But he said that his parents were missing.” Conner said because he couldn’t wrap his head about it. Surely, it wouldn’t harm them to at least look into the problem. “And that he had evidence.” 

“His evidence is all conjecture and circumstantial.” Dick shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing the police can do with that.” 

“But we’re not the police.” 

“We have bigger problems.” 

“Like Jason.” Conner looked down at his hands. Remembered catching Jason with them and then getting shot only moments afterwards. “Because he’s… family?” 

Dick’s look was soft, and a little sad. “He’s a member of this team, even if he doesn’t want to be anymore.” So did that mean that they weren’t family? When Conner had met them they had _seemed_ like family. “Barbara says the kid’s just making it up. Finding conclusions where he wants them to be.” 

“What do you think?” 

“I think…” Dick trailed off and stared at the wall. “I think that when something terrible happens we all wish there was a different solution.” He shook his head and forced a smile at Conner then. “Get some sleep, Conner. Bruce wants to run some tests in the morning.” 

Right. 

Because they were there for him too. They didn’t understand him. No one understood exactly _what_ Conner was. Or how he came to be. 

He nodded because what else was there for him to do. He still didn’t understand, fully, what it was to be human, even if he wished to. “Goodnight, Dick.” 

“Night Conner.” 

\--

Conner didn’t sleep. 

He was tired enough that, by morning, he had begged off with Gar to get coffee and bagels before anyone else was even awake. Except Alfred. Conner didn’t think Alfred slept either. But he hadn’t been anywhere in the big house in the morning that Conner could hear so, perhaps, he simply lived somewhere _other_ than the Wayne house. 

The coffee shop Gar brought them to was the only one that was open at such an early hour and it had a line out the door. Gotham during the day was actually rather nice, Conner decided. It reminded him a bit of Metropolis with its tall buildings and bright sun. Gar had ordered some incredibly detailed drinks and had let Conner pick out the pastries. The card he had produced to pay for them had Dick’s name on it - Richard Grayson in gold, glittering letters - and the tired looking barista had given them an extra muffin when she read it. “For Dickie,” she had said with a curious wink. 

“He’s like royalty here,” Gar muttered and smiled when she handed him the bulging bag. 

Royalty. 

Conner had never thought _Dick_ would be something even close. 

They found a table in the corner, just the two of them to drink their coffee that Gar had ordered before going back. It was then, perhaps, that Conner noticed him. Or, possibly, Conner had known he was there before and just hadn’t consciously registered it yet. 

Tim Drake was sitting at a table to the right of them, fingers flowing quickly over a keyboard and barely making any noise as it pressed the buttons. He had a big, steaming mug in front of him and the barista from earlier topped it off with more black liquid and leaned over shoulder to see what he was doing. He wore the same shoes he had in the police department the day before and they still clashed terribly with his outfit. Conner still thought he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. “Did you hear the prince of Gotham’s back?” She asked lightly. 

“Who hasn’t.” Tim Drake said dryly, sipped the steaming drink completely black and then made a face at the taste of it. “Say, Karen, if you were going on a trip to Egypt to study the new tombs they found in Cairo would you _also_ book a trip down to Jamaica and have your cellphone pinged in Louisiana?” 

The barista blinked at him. “That’s not my name.” 

“It’s not?” Drake blinked away from his computer screen, then and blanched at her name tag. “Sorry Lilah.” 

She laughed and shoved at his shoulder. “What are you doing anyway? That doesn’t look like school work.” 

“That’s because it isn’t.” 

“Hey,” Gar nudged his chair with his foot and questioned him with his eyes before he used his words. “Staring is a bit telling, big guy.” 

“I’m not staring.” Conner had been staring. 

Gar chuckled. “That’s the guy from the police department, right?” He sipped his overly complicated drink. “Tim Drake?” 

The team often forgot how smart Gar was. Conner tried not to be one of them. “His parents are missing.” 

“Yeah,” Gar nodded and narrowed his eyes. “I remember.” 

“We should help.” 

“Dick says no.” Gar shrugged but picked at his coffee cup. 

“You might want to wear a hat or something,” Tim Drake called from his table, loud enough that the two of them could hear him. He pointed to his hair at their confused looks. “You know… the green sort of reminds people of someone you don’t want to be associated with.” 

Gar swallowed. 

“Who does it remind them of?” Conner asked curiously. 

Tim Drake’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re not from around here, huh?” He shook his head and then answered his own question. “Joker. He’s not exactly someone you want to be mistaken for here. Especially with Batman acting so… aggressive lately.” 

“Aggressive?” Gar nervously asked. 

“Yeah,” Drake sipped his coffee and made the same face again. Why would he drink it if he didn’t like it? “He put a petty thief in the hospital yesterday. Guy’s in a coma.” 

“I thought you hated gossip,” Lilah the barista observed with a small smile. 

“It’s not gossip if it’s true.” Tim argued. 

“Are,” Conner cleared his throat and then tried again when Tim’s blue, blue eyes settled onto him. “Are your parents still missing?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I could… we could…” Gar shook his head frantically and Conner frowned. “I could help.” 

“Dude.” Gar slapped a hand over his face.

Tim’s lips twitched. “Yeah? How could you do that.” 

“ _Dude_.” Gar impressed. 

Conner rolled his lips and tried to think of a clever way to answer. “I…” 

“They know Dickie.” Lilah filled in, bent over to adjust something in the bakery display case. 

“And Commissioner Gordon.” Tim observed him with curious eyes, swiped up and down Conner’s sitting form, and smirked. “I’ll take any help I can get, to be honest.” 

“Yeah?” Conner perked up. 

“Are you busy? This afternoon? You can come by and I’ll show you everything I’ve got.” 

“Conner.” Gar groaned. 

“I’m not busy at all!” 

\--

  
  


The Drake house was exactly three miles from Wayne Manor and it was about double the size and splendor. The inside was full of ancient artifacts, statues and masks lining the walls. The Drake’s were rich and showy in a way that Bruce Wayne wasn’t. New money, Conner would extrapolate whereas Bruce Wayne had had his for the majority of Gotham’s lifetime. Or so he had read on a quick google search. 

Technically, Conner isn’t supposed to be there but, then again, he hadn’t told Dick or Kori his plans and Gar hadn’t said no so much as gently tried to discourage him from getting involved. But this, Conner had been thinking for a long time, was what heroes were supposed to do. They were meant to help not ignore the call of someone no matter how small the call seemed to be. Plus, exactly how many people had to be out looking for Jason? Conner didn’t even know him that well. 

To be fair, Conner didn’t really know _anyone_ that well. 

But, well, he was trying to distract himself from coming to terms with the fact that only the past year's worth of memories belonged to him and not to two completely different people that well… didn’t want anything to do with him. “I’ve set everything up in here.” Tim Drake is wearing shoes in his house and his hair was dripping water as though he had just come out of the shower moments before Conner had arrived. Most of the furniture had white sheets draped over it until they got to a big, open office looking room. The walls had pictures pasted onto them, multicolored lines of string connecting dots Conner couldn’t really understand. 

Okay, he thought to himself, maybe Gar was right. Maybe Conner _was_ in over his head with this. 

On the bookshelves were old cameras, stacks of pictures and trophies. Gymnastics, self defense tournaments, scholarship awards, a signed photo of The Flying Graysons. Conner stabbed a finger at it - it was nearly identical to the one Dick had in his room at Wayne Manor only in this one there were three of them in identical blue and black skin tight suits. “Hey! Dick has that too.” 

Tim raised a brow - elegant and judgemental in a smug sort of way. He smiled sideways at Conner and snorted a small laugh. It didn’t sound right in the behemoth of a house. “He _should,_ he was the star.” 

“Dick was in the circus?” 

“I saw him when I was… five? I think.” Tim’s blue eyes caught the light perfectly to make them look like twinkling stars. “It was the night his parents died.” 

“His parents are _dead_?” Conner wanted to go to him then, wrap the older man in a hug, and make sure he knew that he wasn’t alone. And then he sort of wanted to ask him who Bruce Wayne was to him if it wasn’t a father. How could Dick have been raised somewhere by someone and them not be his parents? 

“Yeah,” Tim blinked at him. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“No.” Dick didn’t tell anyone anything unless he had to. Conner didn’t know why it made him feel so… weird. 

“Superman fan?” Tim changed the subject abruptly. 

Conner glanced down at his shirt - Kori had gotten him the black and red Superman shirt as a joke after things had settled down. He wore it for comfort most days. It reminded him of the good parts of him. “Do you know him?” He asked hopefully, because Dick, even if he did know Superman, was tight lipped about _how much_ he knew of Superman. And Bruce Wayne was even more cagey than Dick could ever hope to be. 

Tim’s lips twitched again. “No? Batman does, though.” 

“Yeah.” Conner’s shoulders dropped and he sighed. “I know.” 

“I’d say ask him but he might just throw kryptonite at you until you died.” Tim said it so dryly that Conner wasn’t sure if it was a joke or simply an observation. “Commissioner Gordon won’t do anything to get Batman back on track, anyway. I don’t know if it’s some misplaced sense of loyalty or if she genuinely doesn’t know how to but hopefully Dick being back can mellow him out some.” 

It wasn’t that Conner wasn’t observant, he absolutely noticed the switch from Batman to Dick and the line Tim had seemed to draw between the two. But when he opened his mouth to ask about it Tim had already moved on. “She’s not _wrong_ , is the thing. My parents _do_ tend to go on vacations and not show back up for months on end. They usually check in, though. Unless they don’t have service but that doesn’t happen as much as you’d think nowadays. How else would dad keep the business running, right?” 

Conner, at a loss of what exactly to say, nodded. It seemed as though it was the right thing to do anyway, because Tim took it as confirmation to continue. 

“They usually call every Tuesday and Thursday night. Just to do a general check in - see how school’s going, make sure I have enough money in the account, real normal stuff. But the last time they called was a month ago.” Tim crossed his arms across his chest and gestured to the daily desk calendar he had tacked up onto the wall. The start of the visual mess. Apparently. “I gave them a week grace period - maybe they just forgot or something, right? But they didn’t check in. So I checked their location.” 

“How?” Conner knew Jason used to have a tracker or ten in him that Dick used to trace him before he carved them out. He wasn’t _supposed_ to know but he did. Gar told him it wasn’t normal to have trackers in people but, if Tim’s parents had them in them too maybe Gar was wrong. 

“Phones have a find your friend function.” Tim sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. It stuck up a bit from the trail of his fingers. “That pinged in Louisiana. 3304 West Esplanade, Metairie, Louisiana, zip code 70002 to be exact.” 

“And that’s… weird?” 

“Very weird.” Tim reassured. “Because they were supposed to be _here_.” He pointed to a location pinned on a map. “And they were there the week before.” 

“Do you frequently check their location?” 

“Yes.” Tim said it as though it wasn’t a problem at all so Conner didn’t make it one. “So I looked up any information I could find about a dig in Cairo, which is where they were supposed to be and where their phones pinged just a week before. This is the real kicker,” He paused for what Conner was sure was dramatic effect. Hank liked to do it when she was laying out information too. “There’s no history of there _ever_ being a dig.” 

Conner frowned. “Could someone have just… deleted it?” 

“Across the entire internet?” Tim scoffed and shook his head. “No. Not _that_ cleanly.” 

“Okay,” Conner shrugged. “So they weren’t in Cairo.” 

“No, they _were_ in Cairo.” Tim corrected. “Their phone pinged it. But they, apparently, weren’t there for a dig like they told me.” 

“So why were they there?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine. But where my parents procure some of their… antiquities has always been one big question mark of confusion.” Tim waved it away as though it was inconsequential and Conner found himself following his lead once more. “So I checked their credit card statements for anything that said where exactly in Cairo they were supposed to be.” 

“You can just get those?” 

“Well… _no_ .” Tim flushed and bit at his bottom lip before shaking his head. He looked up at Conner through his long, dark eyelashes and shrugged helplessly. “It’s not exactly legal but it’s not exactly _illegal_ .” He narrowed his eyes and then threw up his hands a moment later. “Okay, it’s _completely_ illegal but that’s not important.” 

“What’s important?” 

“There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ showing that they were ever planning on going to Cairo. The last transaction on both of them was a pair of plane tickets to Jamaica.” He traced his finger down a piece of green string to that location on the map. 

Conner had to admit, it _did_ seem a little fishy. “Why would they go to Jamaica?” 

“Hell if I know.” Tim shrugged and ducked his head, his hair flopping over his forehead. “The next things I have are just… sightings.” He gestured to a series of grainy security footage. “I scanned through all the airport security footage I could find and they were seen in Gotham’s airport a month ago, California a week after, Hawaii a few days after that, Alaska after that, then _China_ and then seen getting on a cruise ship in Peru.” 

“That’s a lot of places.” 

“That’s not even the worrying part.” 

“It’s not?” It seemed like the worrying part. Unless traveling between several different locations was normal for the Drake’s. 

“No,” Tim yanked a picture off the wall and a blue string bounced with the sudden movement. “What do you see that’s the same in these?” He then yanked down several more. 

Conner bowed over them on the table Tim had placed them on. He looked like a combination of both his parents - Tim had the elegance, build and face of his mother, but the hairline and stance of his father. In none of the pictures did they look like anything but normal passengers, there was no fear, anxiety or apprehension in their faces. And then Conner saw it. Or, rather, saw _him_. 

The man was exactly seven paces behind them in every picture. He wasn’t looking at them but for him to be every picture with them felt off. Conner could barely make out the curve of his nose and there weren’t any distinctive features he could pick out. He glanced up to see Tim watching him, blue eyes wide with worry. “You see him too right?” 

It didn’t feel right. Seeing the man didn’t _feel_ right. It felt as though Conner and Tim had stumbled onto something they weren’t supposed to. “He’s in every picture.” 

Tim nodded, slow and steady. “I think I know who he is.” 

Conner blinked. With all of the information he was being shown it seemed foolish of Dick and Commissioner Gordon to ignore what Tim was telling them. “Well who is it? Let’s… let’s go find them.” 

“We can’t go after him,” Tim rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“Why not?” 

“Because he’s… he’s a _legend_. He’s not real.” 

“But you _said_.” 

“Because everything points to him!” Tim insisted. “This guy he’s… he’s a master manipulator. He’s been responsible for close to ten murders in the past ten years but no one even believes the guy exists.” 

“Why not?” 

Tim held up a finger and turned back around. He pointed to the other half of his wall. “Mister and Missus Haywood. They owned Haywood Transportation Inc. In 2007 they disappeared on a trip to Japan, their daughter sounded the alarm that something was up in Japan because her parents never checked in but they were caught on CCTV both entering the airport and exiting it that same day. The business transferred upwards to fourteen billion dollars from their account to several offshore and then a week later they turn up in their hotel room dead.” 

Conner swallowed. “And you think the same guy did that.” 

“I _know_ the same guy did that.” Tim corrected. “In 2010 Tiberious Scanlon disappeared on a trip to Antarctica to check on one of his research facilities. His wife stayed home with their newborn baby and she called the cops when she got a call saying that he had never arrived. He was later found with all of his money drained from his personal accounts - upwards to twenty billion - in his hotel room.” 

Conner’s head spun. Tim had outlined ten separate occurrences with enough similarities to be concerning. “Is there a way that these could all be… coincidences?” 

“ _No_ ,” Tim insisted. “They all had the same poison in their systems. They all…” He gestured to the general wall. “It’s a nerve toxin. Probably made from Jimson weed.” 

“A what?” 

“It’s a subspecies of nightshade. It’s not even usually _bad_ , it’s been used for decades to treat illnesses like asthma, the flu, coughs.” 

“But it’s in _all_ of them?” 

“Unhealthy amounts.” 

“So why…” Conner gnawed on his lip and narrowed his gaze. “Why are you asking for help? If you know who took them?” 

“Because no one…” Tim sighed and looked at Conner long and hard. “No one will _listen_ . Jimson weed usually just induces hallucinations and has a perfectly viable reason to be in their systems if they were feeling sick or something. They were all ruled accidental deaths. And there really _is_ no reason for anyone to think my parents are missing. They _do_ go away for months at a time and they don’t really contact anyone but… they wouldn’t forget to contact _me_. We’re not… we’re not close but they wouldn’t forget.” 

Conner thought he understood. They functioned a bit like the team - Hank and Dawn called Dick almost every other night, Rachel texted Gar as much as she could and Kori and Dick were tethered in a way that no one quite understood. If one of them missed a check point that meant something was wrong. “You said you think you know who he is. So… who is he?” 

“It’s just a guess.” Tim insisted but took in a deep, deep breath. “There’s this story. Of a guy in Haiti that claims to know how to communicate to the Ioa of Haitian Voodoo. Specifically Baron Samedi and Papa Legbra. Papa Legbra stands at the crossroads between the living and dead and is the only one that can give permission to talk to the spirits of Guinee, and Baron Samedi is said to be the leader of the Guédé.”

“You think that it’s these… Ioa guys?” 

“No I think it’s the guy that says he can talk to them and walk across _fire_.” Tim shrugged with a glance to his left. “Granted, that’s assuming he’s a real guy and not just a myth.” 

“Who?” 

“The Obeah Man.” 

\--

“Hey,” Kori knocked gently on his door and Conner’s head popped up from where he was leaning over the print outs Tim had given him when he had left the Drake household hours before. “Where were you today?” 

Conner tapped his fingers on the paper and forced a smile. He shrugged, he didn’t want to lie to Kori. “Did you guys find Jason?” 

“No,” Kori ran her fingers through her hair with a long breath. “He knows exactly how to hide from Batman and Dick. Barbara’s helping them but…” 

“How is she helping them?” Conner asked, shuffling the papers into a neat pile and clearing a spot on the bed for Kori to perch on delicately. 

“And her Dick were _friends_ ,” she said it like they _weren’t_ friends still. Or like, perhaps, they had been… different from friends. “Before he left Gotham. Back when he was Robin.” 

“Did you know Dick used to be in the circus?” 

Kori’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “I did.” She tilted her head at the papers in front of him. “Why are you reading about voodoo?” 

Conner shrugged uselessly. He _liked_ Kori was the problem. She was nice and she didn’t treat him like anyone but Conner. She didn’t know Superman or Lex Luthor like Dick and the others did. She didn’t make him feel dumb or slow or like he was missing a thousand different pieces of context. He didn’t want to lie to her but he didn’t think she could help even if she wanted to. “Do you remember that guy from the police station?” 

“With the missing parents?” 

“Yeah.” Kori folded her legs under herself and leaned over the papers, her long fingers poking at the words printed. “I’m trying to help him.” 

She raised an eyebrow but it was with something like coy pride. “Dick’s not going to like that.” 

“Dick’s not in charge.” 

“Who _is_ in charge then?” 

“You?” 

Kori tossed her head back and laughed. “You’ve got that right, Conner.” She sobered then, her smile still on her lips but eyes lighter. Concerned. “Just be careful, Conner. Gotham’s not known for it’s nice, easy criminals.” 

\--

Dick didn’t take the news that Conner was working on a missing person’s case with a fifteen year old well. “I said we’re not getting involved!” He threw his hands up in frustration and gripped at his hair as though he couldn’t understand the absurdity that was Conner ignoring what he seemed to feel was a direct order. 

“ _We’re_ not getting involved.” Conner felt the need to point out. 

Kori pursed her lips and looked down at the floor with her face screwed up. Dick glared at her. “This is your fault.” 

She scoffed. Dick seemed to strongly dislike whenever people with opposing opinions voiced them but kept surrounding himself with those that told him he was wrong. It was like the man needed the pull back to reality. “What’s the problem, anyway? If Conner wants to help this kid, who is it going to hurt?” 

“Conner doesn’t even know how to control himself.” 

“Conner is right here.” He pointed to himself with an angry frown. “I’m not asking for permission.” 

Dick looked incredulous, perhaps a bit insulted. “Conner -.” 

“Come _on_ ,” Gar groaned from his spot on the couch. He rolled himself from his sprawl to his feet and came to Conner’s shoulder. “What are we even doing here, Dick? Rachel’s in Themyscira trying bring back Donna, Rose is with Hank and Dawn looking for Jason in Europe and you’re out with Batman like every night. What are _we_ doing here?” 

“You’re…” 

“I’ll go with Conner, make sure he doesn’t blow his cover as Conner no last name and you call us when you find Jason or decide to actually use us for something other than tech support.” 

“Gar -.” 

“Let them go, Grayson.” Kori said his last name like a caress and her hand was soft on his forearm until he dropped it to his side. 

“I’m sorry for…” 

“Jason’s your brother, man.” Gar shrugged. “I get it.” 

“That’s not it, though.” Conner cocked his head. “Batman’s getting really aggressive, right? He’s putting people in the hospital and stuff.” 

“How do you know that?” Dick asked instead of confirming or denying the statement. 

Conner shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Oh, well.” He shrugged again and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go?” 

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “Call us if you need backup, okay?” 

Gar and Conner brightened and bumped knuckles together. “Dope!” Gar beamed and, in the face of that smile Conner couldn’t help smiling back. “Catch me up, man, what’s our case like?” 

\--

Tim didn’t seem phased when Conner brought Gar along to their next meeting. He only reached behind him to pull a black beanie out of his bag and toss it at Gar’s chest. “For the hair.” He supplied when Gar made a face. “In case you want to get referred to as Joker Junior.” 

Gar blanched and stuffed it over his hair. “No thank you.” 

Tim’s lips flickered into a small smile and Conner watched him rip open and pour in a total of eight sugars into his coffee, slip a twenty into the tip jar, and guide them out the door. He didn’t even cringe when he sipped his drink. Conner wondered if the sugar made it taste any better or if it still tasted like sludge and bitter asphalt. “So, I was reading up on the Obeah Man,” Tim began as they walked and Conner could feel the heat of his skin radiating onto his own. “I couldn’t find any known locations aside from Haiti but I _did_ find the name of two known associates.” 

“I thought this guy was a legend.” Gar pointed out. 

“So was Wonder Woman.” Tim countered. “Until she came out to the public in the 1990s no one ever knew she existed. There were just stories and rumors and conjecture.” 

Conner felt, oddly, impressed. “Are any of them close by?” 

“Right question, Superboy.” Tim pointed at him and smacked his lips. 

Gar’s eyes widened and Conner barely avoided the stomp of his foot. “I’m… I’m not…” Conner stammered. 

“Your shirt?” Tim’s eyes glittered curiously. “You were wearing a Superman shirt the other day.” 

He _had_ been. 

Right. 

It was a nickname.  
Conner had never had a nickname before. 

He beamed and Gar looked vaguely more green than he usually did. He glanced between the two of them and waved a hand in the air between them. “So?” 

“Right,” Tim shook his head and his easy smile fell away. It was a pity, Conner thought, he had quite liked his smile. “So the associates. I had programs running all night to see if anyone matching the descriptions popped up on CCTV across Gotham and got a ping this morning. That’s why I called you.” 

“They’re in Gotham?” 

“One of them.” Tim corrected. He shouldered the way through the library door, took a long pull of his coffee before tossing it without looking into the trash bin and led them to the back. A girl with big, bushy brown hair was sitting at a table and she wiggled her fingers in his direction. “Hi Hannah.” He greeted absently. 

“I don’t get why this guy would go after _your_ parents.” Gar said after a moment of contemplation. “No offense.” He tacked on at the end. 

“My parents own like a quarter of Gotham and have a fortune sunk into another that makes them a controlling body within those companies.” Tim dropped his bag by his feet and dropped heavily in an empty chair. Conner followed suit, turned towards him so that their knees happened to brush under the table. Gar rolled his eyes. “To put it simply, they’re filthy rich.” 

“But they leave you here.” 

“I don’t want to go on excavations, or whatever they do, with them.” Tim waved away the concern. “Gotham’s much more interesting.” 

“Interesting, he says.” Gar said with a side eye. 

“Well yeah,” Tim said with a small smirk. “You find me somewhere else with a population as certifiably insane with a giant guy dressed as a bat that fights them and I’ll go there.” Conner opened his mouth to respond, he wasn’t sure with what yet but he found he liked to engage with Tim. He was open in a way the others weren’t. “But anyway, this guy is named Louis Dange.” 

“I could look up his location or background or…” 

“Don’t bother.” Tim interrupted. “He’s walking in right… now.” 

The man that walked in barely glanced in their direction but, still, Gar and Conner both hunched farther down into their chairs while Tim opened his laptop and began to press buttons in an empty word document. He was typing observations, Conner noticed, but his eyes never seemed to flicker from the screen. “How did you know he was going to be here?” Conner asked curiously. 

“His aunt is a librarian.” 

“ _Why_ is he here?” Gar grunted. 

“This library is set to close if it doesn’t get bought by the city within the next month.” Tim sighed and flicked his gaze up to the man as he leaned across the counter, smiling and talking to an older woman. They were speaking in a rapid language Conner didn’t understand but the conversation seemed to be about a book or building or… really it could have been about anything. Conner didn’t understand what they were saying after all. “The owners reached out to my parents to see if they’d buy it but mom and dad just tore up the proposal. They’re not big on philanthropy unless it’s to museums.” 

“But…” Conner slid his gaze back to Tim. 

“I don’t know why the Obeah Man chose my parents over Bruce Wayne except that they were easier targets.” 

“What makes them easier targets?” 

Tim blinked at them, slow and confused and simply shook his head. Conner thought he knew what made them easier targets than Bruce Wayne - well he _knew_ that he knew what made them easier targets but he didn’t think _Tim_ knew. But Tim had been hinting that he knew the entire time Conner had known him which, granted, wasn’t long. “Think you can plant this on him?” He held up something small and silver and dropped it into Gar’s hand waiting hand. 

“Is this a tracker?” Gar twirled it in between his fingers. 

“Of course it’s a tracker.” 

“Why do we need a tracker?” Conner asked. 

“Look,” Tim pressed a button on his computer and a map popped up, a red dot blinking right where they were sitting. “This red dot will show us exactly where he goes within city limits.” 

“Like the find your friends thing!” 

Tim smiled. “Bingo.” 

Gar nodded and closed it in his fist. “Yeah I can… I can get it on him.” He stood up smoothly from the table and started towards where Louis Gange stood talking to his aunt. Or who Conner presumed was his aunt. He walked smoothly and carefully and with his head down and Conner watched as he bumped shoulders with the man, slipped his hand quickly into the man’s pocket and pulled back with a frantic apology. “Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” Tim’s lips twitched and he snorted softly. 

“He could turn into anything and he chooses to play a dumb teenager.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Tim slapped his laptop shut and stood smoothly to his feet. “Ready for step three?” 

Conner’s eyebrows caved in in confusion. “What was step one and two?” 

“Step one, recruit help. I was hoping it would be from Batman and Robin but,” Tim shrugged. “What can you do, right? Step two, plant a tracer on the associate.” 

“Step three?”

“Follow him.” 

Right. 

Easy, peasy. 

\--

It wasn’t easy. 

Or, okay, it _was_ easy but it was also painfully, painfully boring. 

Gar had resorted to playing games on his cellphone and listening to music through headphones loud enough that Conner could make out everything that was being said as though they were being played in his _own_ ears. Tim was much better at the stake out portion of the mission, Conner thought. He looked like he fit in everywhere they went. If Louis Dange wandered into a store Tim would be three steps behind him looking at shampoo, if he went to a restaurant he would get them a table within his eyeline. Conner thought it was thrilling to watch him work. 

For the first hour. 

Then it just got boring. 

“What are we looking for?” Conner asked helplessly. 

Gar glanced up at them and then back at his phone screen. 

Tim sighed. “I don’t know.” He scratched at his nose. “To be honest, I have no idea _what_ I’m doing.” 

Conner knew the feeling. “We’ll find them. You know that, right?” 

“I can’t figure out where they are.” Tim admitted. “They haven’t shown back up on any radar since they got on the cruise ship. And I don’t like not knowing things.” 

He raised his camera back to his eye and took a few more random shots. Conner could hear it shutter and then Tim paused. “Do you see that?” He asked with a hushed voice. 

Gar sat up quickly. “See what?” 

“Conner,” Tim pointed towards the tree line, where they had been standing and watching Louis Dange chain smoke for an hour. “Is that who I think it is?” 

Conner narrowed his eyes and felt more than saw everyone light up red as his senses caught their heat signatures. He recognized the voice before he saw _who_ Tim was pointing towards. “The Obeah Man appreciates doing business with you.” Louis flicked his cigarette and tipped his hat brim towards the shorter man in leather that stood in front of him. 

He was wearing a small mask like he had been when Conner had first met him. 

Which made it all the most shocking that Tim recognized him. “Who is that?” Gar whispered and Tim’s hand slapped out blindly to cover his mouth. 

Deft fingers flipped through the money Louis had handed over and slim lips pulled into a familiar smirk. “Pleasure’s all mine, Dange.” He said. 

“We have to call Dick.” Gar murmured against Tim’s palm. 

“Don’t bother.” Tim gestured to above where a shadow of a Bat was looming over the edge of a building. It dropped with barely a sound to the pavement and a gun shot off quickly barely a moment later. Conner grabbed the back of Tim’s shirt and yanked him down with more force than was necessary. He fumbled with his camera and pressed his back against the concrete slab they were huddled behind. His face wasn’t scared, though. No Tim Drake looked _thunderous_ . “Why the _fuck_ ,” He spit out in frustration at the two of them. “Is _Jason Todd_ working with the man that kidnapped my parents?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one was so much better than this. Please don't hate me - I never claimed to have any idea what I was doing. 
> 
> On happier news: thank you so much everyone that read, kudoed, commented and bookmarked chapter one. It really helped push this part forward and I love all of you.

It had never occurred to Conner exactly  _ how _ Bruce Wayne went so long without people discovering that he was Batman. He would say it was too complicated for the average person to figure out but, well, it really  _ wasn’t _ . The method was more something Conner had never stopped to think about until that moment. It was incredibly simple once he became aware of it because the man in the mask wasn’t  _ Bruce Wayne _ . He sounded different, more angry and deep than coy and prideful. Batman didn’t have pride. Not like Bruce Wayne did. 

Fascinating. 

Or at least it would have been fascinating if it wasn’t also terrifying. 

He was alone, which struck Conner as odd if only for the fact that Kori had implied that he had been working with Commissioner Gordon and Dick on finding Jason. And there Jason was - in a startling amount of leather - a motorcycle suit, perhaps - and black domino mask and familiar sneer pulling at his lips. Gar was practically vibrating beside Conner, skin shifting just a shade closer to green. “We should help. We should help, right?” Gar asked for what had to be the tenth time within a minute. Conner had a feeling that the boy desperately missed Dick’s direction in that moment. He cast a sidelong look at Gar, met his eyes with his own and shrugged. 

Conner was the one with the  _ least _ amount of experience on the team. He didn’t have any idea or strategy set that he could follow. In all of his training so far he had been responsible for only one thing - brute force. 

He didn’t think brute force would help any of them at that particular moment in time. 

“He’s getting away.” Conner hadn’t forgotten about Tim yet, either and keeping an eye on the only member of the Drake family still in Gotham seemed more like the sort of thing Kori would have told him to do. Forgetting about Tim seemed like the sort of laughable thing Dick would have quipped during a fight. Conner hadn’t  _ forgotten _ about Tim since he met him earlier that week. 

Tim, for his part, was stuffing his camera back into his messenger bag with his eyes trained precisely ten feet away from where Batman was having a discussion with his fists and Jason was answering in kind with bullets. 

Jason, Conner could tell, was always Jason. He never switched himself off like Bruce did. Conner hadn’t ever seen  _ anyone _ switch themselves off quite so easily as Batman tossed aside Bruce Wayne. Their fight was shaping up to be a vicious one, and not the sort of vicious that Conner wanted anything to do with. There was no winning there. Not unless, maybe, Dick showed up to smack some sense into their heads. Conner nearly laughed then. Who would have thought that  _ Dick _ would be the best member of the Wayne family when it came to emotional communication? 

Tim didn’t wait for them but took off in a dead sprint towards the docks where a shadow - Louis Dange, Conner reminded himself - was making its way towards a boat. Conner shared a panicked look with Gar. What were they supposed to do in this situation? Were they supposed to help Jason - a team member even if he didn’t want to be - or help Tim? Gar gnawed on his lip. Conner would defer to him - he had the most experience, anyway, and Conner trusted Gar more than he trusted most people. “I’m calling Dick.” He decided and Conner felt his shoulders slump. 

That meant they were staying there. 

With Jason. 

He peaked over the edge of the concrete slab they were ducked behind - just in time to see a bullet ricochet off a lamp post and spiral towards where they were sitting. In retrospect, a bullet unless it was laced with Kryptonite wouldn’t exactly  _ harm _ Conner. That didn’t mean he had any good memories surrounding them. He tucked his head back down with a yelp and Gar followed suit, his phone pressed tight against his ear. 

Dick, shocking no one, wasn’t answering. 

Conner could just hear the phone ring, ring, and ring before his voicemail picked up. 

His eyes, like magnets, found Tim across from them, vaulting over the hood of a car with palms pressed downwards onto the metal and body twisting in the air to land on his feet on the other side. Louis Dange had gotten a good head start, after all, and was still leisurely untangling the rope from the docking station he had tied his boat to. There was a steady desperation in the way Tim moved, something that shined through familiarity and echoed in the way his feet pounded against pavement. He lacked a nuance to hide himself from view but he moved in such a way that it was almost painfully obvious that he wasn’t  _ trying  _ to. He wanted Dange to know that he knew he was. 

Tim, in all of the time Conner knew him, always had a plan. He always had a  _ meticulous _ plan. Chasing after Dange wasn’t part of it but, then again, neither was finding out the man Obeah Man was apparently working with Jason Todd. 

Conner knew he should have been shocked that Tim had placed Jason as the man in the mask as quickly as he had but, really, Conner was more shocked that he had played his hand so soon. Something brass caught the corner of his eye and Conner blinked at the bullet that was on a quick, straight lined trajectory towards exactly where Tim was making his way towards. “No.” He said it softly but it caught Gar’s attention. 

“Shit.” Gar swore. 

Conner didn’t wait for permission. He acted fast because speed was all they had. He wasn’t even sure if he could outrun a speeding bullet but he  _ was _ sure that the bullet wouldn’t hurt him. He had never touched more than Tim’s hand in the week that he knew him, but the boy was surprisingly light when Conner grabbed the corners of his waist and spun so that  _ his _ back was in the line of the bullet. Set to intercept. Tim stumbled, his mentom gone and hands fisted in the fabric of Conner’s shirt, blue eyes wide and wild. 

Bullets, when they hit Conner, didn’t feel much different than a pebble. It bounced harmlessly off his back and fell to the pavement. Tim breathed in deep, glanced over his shoulder to where Dange lifted two fingers in a lazy salute and started the engine on his boat and slumped for a moment against Conner’s chest. He was light but surprisingly solid and when he tightened his fist for a moment in Conner’s t-shirt it was with a strength that he didn’t look like he had. And then he let go and shoved Conner back a step or two to watch as Batman and Jason fought. “They’re going to get someone killed.” He observed. 

Conner couldn’t exactly disagree. So far he had seen two bullets get close to hitting innocent people he cared about. Batman was moving too quickly and Jason knew all of his tricks. It would have been a fascinating fight to watch - they were both brute, angry strength - if it wasn’t so painfully obvious that they had both forgotten the possibility of anyone but them existing in the area. Jason, Conner thought, was someone that wouldn’t harm innocents and Batman was supposed to be a hero for the people. 

Just how many people were collateral damage, he wondered. 

Was this really what heroes were? 

“You’re okay?” Gar’s hands floated over Conner, and his finger was a bit chilly where it poked through the hole in his shirt that the bullet had made. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing about it. “I can’t reach Dick.” 

Conner half expected Tim to ask why Dick needed to be contacted at all but he, instead, rolled his lips and rubbed at his forehead. “Kori?” Conner offered because he didn’t doubt that Kori would stop whatever fight Batman and Jason was in the middle of with just a flick of her fingers. 

Gar shook his head. The radio silence from both Dick and Kori (who was much more likely to answer a call than Dick ever was) meant one of two things - either they were together and in trouble, or they were separate and in trouble. Neither was a good situation but Conner had seen what Kori and Dick could do together and he didn’t doubt that they could get themselves out of whatever situation they were stuck in. “This is stupid.” Tim declared and stood up abruptly. Conner made a noise and grabbed onto his shirt to yank him back down and Gar fumbled for the strap of his bag. “I’ve lost my biggest lead because of their stupid pissing contest.” Tim muttered and tried to shake them off. It worked with Gar but he had to perform a rather complicated looking spin and twist to get Conner’s grip to drop. It stung in his wrist and he shook it out before reaching again. 

But Tim, for all that he was human, was  _ fast _ . He was an arms reach away before Conner could grab him again. He tunneled his hands around his mouth and yelled what Conner was sure was probably the stupidest thing he could have ever yelled. “Hey  _ Robin _ !” Jason’s moves stuttered, just a bit, before picking back up again. Tim rolled his eyes so hard Conner feared they were about to fall from his head. “ _ Jason Todd! _ ” 

“No!” Gar yelped and jumped forward to grab him again. Tim side-stepped out of his way and clicked a button of his phone. A white flash lit up the stone walls and abandoned cars and was gone a moment later.

Jason and Batman stopped abruptly. 

It wasn’t quiet but Conner thought that he lost the ability to hear. Tim, brilliant and beautiful Tim Drake, smirked like he had just purposely been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and then took off in dead sprint. 

It all happened rather quickly, actually, and sometimes the world worked in  _ quick _ for Conner. One second Jason and Batman were fighting each other over something Conner wasn’t sure was even worth it and then Batman was on the defensive as Tim ran away. Jason, Conner realized with a start, would kill him. Or at the very least hurt him, if he caught up to him. 

Conner had meant to run after him but, well, things quickly spiralled downwards when Dick literally flipped off a building and landed between Batman and Jason and Kori floated down in front of him and Gar and a girl in a black, and yellow suit took off after Tim with a click in her leg. “Hey boys.” Kori greeted with that tone that had Gar shrinking into himself just a bit. 

Conner winced. 

\--

At any other time Gar would have been flipping his shit over being in the Batcave. Literally any other time. But, well, this time was different. Shocking next to no one, Jason hadn’t gotten away while Batman was distracted. Dick had tried to tell him to leave but Jason was the sort of person to do the exact opposite of everything Dick told him to do on principle alone - he always had been. Even in the brief time Gar had known him. 

Any other time Gar would have been freaking out - because it was the  _ Bat Cave _ and he had just seen Batman fight and  _ Commissioner Barbara Gordon was Batgirl _ and Gar would need plenty of time to digest  _ that _ later on. 

But for now he was a bit more, well,  _ freaked out _ . Conner was watching everything with those piercing blue eyes of his - almost like things were going in slow motion and Conner was stuck in fast forward. Kori hadn’t let go of either of their shoulders since they had gotten back to the cave, Dick was wearing his new black and blue suit with escrimas sheathed at his thighs and arms crossed. He was positioned carefully and strategically between Batman and Jason and Batgirl - Barbara Gordon - was standing in front of him, just a step closer to Batman. Either the way they stood stared their alliance in whatever long, drawn out fight that was going on, or they were both ready to grab whichever person started fighting again first. 

Gar didn’t know which. 

But it wasn’t any of  _ them _ he was staring at or particularly afraid for. Dick and Kori wouldn’t let Batman or Jason do anything to Gar and Conner. 

Tim Drake, on the other hand, wasn’t part of anyone’s team and defiant in a way that Gar would admire if he wasn’t so scared shitless for him. Jason hadn’t stopped glaring at him since they had all gathered. “New suit.” He quipped to Dick in a way that had the older man scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

Gar choked on a badly timed bout of hysterics. It wasn’t funny except it was  _ painfully _ funny. Kori squeezed his shoulder - not ungently or as anything more than a show of comfort and support. He appreciated her more than he had words to give. Kori had apologized earlier on the way over, soft enough for just him and Conner to hear, that they hadn’t arrived sooner. Dick had thrown him a look that said that he agreed with the apology she had been giving. Gar, while he admired Dick, was more inclined to believe Kori’s soft explanation than anything the other man would give him. Dick had a habit of cutting people out. Of not answering Gar’s calls. He swallowed thickly and rubbed at the back of his neck - Conner hadn’t stopped staring, muscles primed to shield Tim if he needed to. 

He had taken this  _ hero _ thing to heart in a way that Gar felt the others hadn’t. Perhaps it was Conner’s limited scope of understanding that lead to it, and Gar wasn’t sure if it was from the responsibility being a  _ hero _ put onto Conner’s shoulders that led him to want to protect Tim from everything or if it was the boy himself. Gar wasn’t stupid, not like how people tended to look at him and think. He could pick up on the way Conner seemed a little too invested in every word that came out of his mouth. The clone had, dare Gar say it, a  _ crush _ . 

It would have been adorable if Rachel was there to tease him about it with Gar. But Rachel wasn’t there. 

He tried not to miss her so much.  _ She _ would have gotten Dick to talk earlier, would have managed to convince Jason not to be so…  _ Jason _ with the rest of them. She probably would have been able to help Conner, Gar, and Tim with the voodoo man they were hunting down. 

“Report.” Batman said from where he was gruffly sitting in the big, leather chair in front of the massive array of computers he had set up. 

Jason said nothing and Dick stared at him for a long, long time. 

Not family Gar’s ass. He rolled his eyes and Kori smiled at him before shrugging.  _ She _ wasn’t going to start talking. “ _ Report _ .” Batman growled when too long of a silence stretched between them. 

Commissioner Gordon threw up her hands in a dramatic sigh. “Bruce -.” 

“Batgirl.” 

“ _ Bruce _ .” Dick snapped at his mentor and, with the power of Barbara Gordon’s stare matching his own, managed to make the Batman’s shoulders drop in concession. 

Commissioner Gordon’s lips - pink and full - twitched into a smile before she blinked and started talking. Gar wondered just how well and long her and Dick had been working together. They seemed to move intimately, without words, and bending to each other’s will. Dick deferred to her on a lot of things, the same way he used to do with Donna, and she, in turn, respected whatever calls he made. “Let’s stop pretending this isn’t fucked up, okay?” She peeled her mask off her face with the hand that wasn’t covered in a black glove and slumped back against the array of computers in a casual, yet terrifying pose. 

Gar had been a bit afraid of her when she was just  _ Commissioner Barbara Gordon _ but now that he knew that she was also  _ Batgirl _ he both wanted to get her autograph and never get on her bad side. Dick seemed to follow her lead again, peeled off his own mask so that he looked more like Dick and less like Nightwing or Robin or whatever he was going by these days and uncrossed his arms. 

Batman didn’t take off his mask. 

“I know who you are.” Tim Drake said it as though it was insulting Batman wouldn’t even look at him. He looked so small in the room full of superheroes but still, somehow, like he fit in. He kept his shoulders and back straight, and he didn’t cross his arms for a form of unconscious protection. In fact, the only time Gar had seen him look anything close to a normal teenager was when he was talking to Conner. 

It was possible, Gar thought, that  _ he _ had a crush too. 

The difference was, Tim Drake wasn’t a clone that had been alive for only a year and, instead, a fifteen year old boy with, probably, a better handle on his emotions than Conner who didn’t even have a last name yet. “ _ How _ do you know who we are?” Barbara Gordon asked when it seemed as though no one else wanted to engage. 

Tim rolled his eyes as though the question insulted his intelligence. 

Gar wished he had thought to start filming the entire situation - Rachel, Dawn and Hank would  _ love  _ to see the look of pure confusion on Dick’s face. “It’s not like you’re not obvious.” Tim waved away the question. “You do the same moves as Robin as you did in the circus.” Dick sputtered and Barbara tilted her head in curiosity. Sometimes, Gar thought, it was very easy to forget that Dick didn’t have a normal childhood. Well, as normal as one  _ could _ being raised by the Batman in Gotham. Kori laughed lowly at the look on his face and Dick’s gaze snapped to her, for a moment, in betrayal before going back to Tim. 

It was unfair, Gar thought, how it was  _ him _ standing in front of all of them. Alone. 

Conner seemed to think so too and ducked out of Kori’s hand to stand beside him so that their shoulders brushed. Kori nudged Gar’s shoulder a bit until he moved closer too and then smiled almost approvingly at them. Dick, with that calculating gaze of his that told Gar that there really was nothing he could even think of hiding from him, said nothing but sighed just a little at the nonverbal show of support. “That’s not important, though.” Tim continued on with his power to control a conversation. His words were flippant until they weren’t and he met Jason’s glare with one of his own. It wasn’t as terrifying but, perhaps, it had the potential to be. “Why are you working for the Obeah Man?” 

Jason said nothing. 

“Jason.” Dick sighed that sigh Jason always managed to produce. 

“Client privilege.” Jason said with a smirk. 

Gar remembered then, just how annoying Jason could really be. He liked Jason, really, but Jason had the innate ability to make everyone  _ hate _ him on principle alone. He was the physical embodiment of little shit. Dick rubbed at his forehead - just how many headaches had Jason caused him in the short time they had all known each other. “You’re not a lawyer.” Tim shot back, quick as a whip. “I’m guessing you don’t actually know.” 

“You don’t have to be a lawyer to have client privilege.” Jason rolled his eyes. Compared to Tim, now that Gar could hear them, his accent was completely off. Tim sounded like Bruce Wayne did, Jason sounded like the girl that worked at the coffee shop, and Dick sounded like a mix of both of them. Gar would bet anything that Jason didn’t grow up on the right side of Gotham. “I don’t have to tell the kid detective here anything.” 

“I’m sure I can figure it out myself.” 

And that was the thing. Gar was pretty sure he could too. Tim was awfully good at figuring things out on his own. He glanced at Conner - Tim would,  _ obviously, _ have Conner too. Gar would have found it odd how Tim had managed to strong arm his loyalty but, really, Gar was pretty sure that if  _ he _ needed help Conner wouldn’t hesitate to help. It was just who he was - maybe not by design but certainly by choice. 

Which meant Gar would be helping too. 

Lovely. 

Where was Rachel when he needed her. “The Obeah Man isn’t real, Tim.” Barbara rubbed at her forehead the same way Dick did and suddenly sounded very tired. “And  _ that’s _ not what’s important here. Who have you told?” 

Tim let out a frustrated stream of breath at her brush off - Gar wondered if she had seen the evidence he had collected because  _ Gar _ had. It all seemed to make sense to him. What proof did she have that the Obeah Man wasn’t real? And wasn’t it the job of the police - of the  _ team _ \- to look at every possible clue before coming to a conclusion? Then again, Gar remembered suddenly, the police didn’t even believe the Drake’s were missing. “Why would I tell anyone?” Tim spit out in answer to her question. “It’s not like anyone would believe me anyway.” 

There was a sting there that Gar understood on a personal level and had Dick shifting uncomfortably. Commissioner Gordon had proven her own point, by not believing Tim about his parents - the police didn’t look at things that didn’t make sense at face value. No one would believe that Bruce Wayne was Batman because it didn’t make sense that he would be. The man had enough money to just  _ pay _ for Gotham’s clean up, why would he beat up bad guys in the street? Dick Grayson couldn’t be Robin because he left the city and Robin had stuck around. Conjecture. That was what Barbara had said was all Tim had on the disappearance of his parents. Circumstantial evidence, conjecture, and conclusions that he had drawn up. 

No one believed anything until it was staring them right in the face. 

Tim was fifteen and all he had to prove that Dick had been Robin was that he moved the same as Robin as he did when he was with the circus. The only evidence he had that Bruce Wayne was Batman was his connection to Dick and the only thing he had to Jason was Jason’s connection to Bruce. It was genius how he connected them all together, though. The Obeah Man wasn’t real because no one wanted to admit that he was someone they had to worry about - there was more evidence to support that he didn’t exist than there was to support that he did. 

But Tim’s evidence was good. Gar couldn’t argue against those facts. “The man you made the trade off with mentioned the Obeah Man.” Conner was the one that spoke and he looked at Jason as though betrayed by the fact that the other boy would even try to lie his way out of things. 

Right, Gar thought, because Conner had only ever met the kind, open side of Jason. Not the cruel and angry one. “How do you know that?” Jason asked through gritted teeth. 

He hadn’t removed his mask, either, but Gar thought he looked a bit betrayed himself with how Gar and Conner had aligned themselves at Tim’s side. Oh well, Gar wanted to say. If he didn’t want the team to side against him then he shouldn’t have ditched the team in a temper tantrum. “I heard you.” Conner said as though everyone could hear conversations half a mile away. 

“The Obeah Man,” Batman - because he was still Batman with the mask on even if Dick and Barbara had taken off their own - said gruffly. “Isn’t inherently evil. They’re spiritual healers.” 

“Obeah in its practice isn’t inherently evil.” Tim agreed. “But the man that practices black magic by kidnapping rich people, forcing them to hand over their fortunes, and then murdering them is.” He didn’t cower until Batman’s stare but met it face on with his own. “I’m not an  _ idiot _ , Batman. I’ve done my research and I’ve come to a logical conclusion. I know you’re convinced that stopping Jason Todd from becoming the Red Hood - which,  _ why _ would you want to be associated with the Joker of all things - is more important than a missing person’s case that you’re not even convinced is real. I  _ know _ you’ve convinced yourself that Jason using homicidal means to clean up known drug areas in Gotham is  _ your fault _ and, frankly, I don’t care. My parents are missing and they’re next on this man’s list. I’ve given Commissioner Gordon all of my evidence and asked for help and I keep getting railroaded and road blocked. I don’t  _ need _ your help to find them.” He was awfully courageous, Gar thought, for someone that was only fifteen and had no superpowers. Perhaps it was Conner at his side, but Gar had a feeling it was, more likely, just who Tim  _ was. _ “I’m done asking for help. The Obeah Man gave you money,” he directed at Jason. “I’m ninety percent sure it was to deliver a ransom demand to Drake Industries. It’s been the appropriate amount of time that he tends to let pass before doing that. Say nothing if I’m right.” 

Jason pursed his lips. “I don’t know.” He grumbled through gritted teeth. “It was a flash drive. I was told to drop it off at Drake Industries and got a huge chunk of cash for it.” Tim nodded, stiff. 

Something disgusting settled in Gar’s stomach. “You wouldn’t check it?” He asked Jason, just a tad shocked at the lack of forethought. 

“I  _ did _ check it.” Jason insisted. “I wouldn’t drop off anything I knew was a threat.” 

“I don’t  _ need _ your help to find my parents.” Tim’s eyes flicked to Dick, then to Barbara, Kori and settled back on Batman. “The shareholders won’t give him the money he asks for. If they did Gotham’s economy would collapse. That means my parents have, maybe, a week left to live. I don’t have  _ time _ to be playing these games with you.” He fished something out of his bag - a small, metal device. He tossed it towards Dick who caught it with a confused turn to his face. “I stuck a tracker on Dange. I’m going to follow it. What  _ you _ do, is up to you.” 

\--

Tim had gone the majority of his life living in silence. It was hard to hold a conversation steady when he always knew how it was going to turn out. It was even harder when there were only so few people he could actually hold a conversation with. That wasn’t to say that Tim went out of his way to avoid conversation - no, Tim  _ loved _ talking - it was that… well, Tim spent the majority of his childhood alone. He had Yilana - his nanny - and Gregor the cook but Tim had been born to save Jack and Janet’s marriage and had seemingly accomplished that. They were always traveling and, honestly, that was good for them because when they  _ weren’t _ they were fighting. It was exhausting and predictable. 

But because of the amount of time he was left alone, Tim tended to find it awfully difficult to connect with people on a deeper level. 

People weren’t equations and maps. They weren’t statistics and theoretical outlines. They were driven, mostly, by emotion over logic. 

_ Tim _ was driven mostly by emotion over logic. 

It was a startling conclusion for him to have come to. 

He was  _ supposed _ to be staying the night at Wayne Manor - it wasn’t Batman that suggested it but Dick Grayson ( _ Dick Grayson! _ Tim had a healthy amount of hero worship for that man and an even bigger amount for Jason Todd - not that the other man would ever hear about it) and Tim wasn’t dumb enough to think of it as anything other than a way for them to keep an eye on him. It would have been flattering if it wasn’t so incredibly annoying. 

Tim didn’t need anyone to keep an eye on him and no matter how hard they looked he  _ would _ be finding his parents. Jack and Janet Drake didn’t do him many favors, they were shit parents, but they were  _ his _ parents. And Tim, even at fifteen, was still that little boy that wanted to make them proud. He couldn’t do that if they were dead. 

So he was stuck in Wayne Manor. 

Big deal. 

Tim calculated he had about a forty percent chance of making it out of the place before anyone even noticed he was gone and Tim had done worse with a smaller rate of success. He was sure that Dick Grayson had gone out of the window when he was younger and wanted to sneak out but that was much too dramatic for Tim. Plus, where Dick had an acrobatic skill Tim only had gymnastics up his sleeve. He could balance on a bar like no one else, but there was no way he would be able to jump out of the window, catch a branch on a tree and monkey his way down to the ground in anything close to a short amount of time. Jason had probably just used the front door - what the other boy lacked in subtly he made up for in brute strength and pure sense of presence. 

Tim, though, had something over both of them.

He had way too much time on his hands, was a step shy of  _ too smart _ , and he, also, grew up in a house that was as old and big as Wayne Manor. 

The thing about old houses was that the families that used to live in them historically employed a large number of people to run the household. Butlers, nannies, housekeepers, footmen. Because the rich folk were notorious for not wanting the help to be seen they all tended to have separate hallways that led to different branches of the house - as well as separate entrances and exits. Tim hadn’t spent a long amount of time in Wayne Manor - he had only been to the house three or four times before then - but he would bet  _ anything _ …. 

He ran a finger down the seam in the wallpaper and pressed until he heard a click. 

A puff of dusty air fanned out through the crack and he smirked. “Bingo.” The entry, and probably the passageways, hadn’t been used in generations and the door creaked as he pulled it open. He winced and glanced over his shoulder. If anyone heard it they didn’t come running to investigate. Tim would have to move quickly, even if he did feel terrible about leaving Conner and Gar behind. 

The other two had been kind and helpful, even if the rest of their team hadn’t. Tim didn’t have any doubt that they were merely helping because they had nothing else to do, but it was nice. To work with other people. Conner particularly was smarter than he looked - he kept up with Tim’s messy thoughts and theories and when he smiled Tim’s stomach seemed to swoop. Tim wasn’t  _ dumb _ but he didn’t have the time to worry about how attractive Conner was. He contemplated leaving a note behind but then thought better of it. 

They had the tracker too - Batman and his team could easily find where he was if they ever decided to use it. 

His parents didn’t have time for him to waste. 

He ducked through the door, pulled it shut behind him, and flicked on the flashlight he had kept stored in his messenger bag. 

Tim saw he was right - the hallway hadn’t been used in a long time. Cobwebs hung off the corners and the air smelled of musk and dust. He wrinkled his nose and kept walking. Theoretically, the layout of the footman's hallway should be the same as the main house - Tim should be able to trace his way out of Wayne Manor by working backwards from the hallways he knew. Granted, Tim thought, he was working purely off theory. He had mapped out all of the Drake home’s secret hallways but the Drake home wasn’t owned by someone as notoriously paranoid as Batman. 

The wallpaper was an ugly yellow with tiny little red flowers that was peeling in places Tim couldn’t reach. He smoothed a hand over a panel and trailed a finger in the dust. He wondered if Bruce Wayne even knew these hallways existed. Had he been avoiding them for a reason or did they simply hold memories he didn’t want to face in them? Had he played in them like Tim did the ones in the Drake home when he was younger? Had Bruce Wayne been as alone growing up as Tim had been? 

No, Tim didn’t think he had been. Thomas and Martha Wayne had been good parents - or so everything Tim had read had told him that - and Jack and Janet were far from the type of parents they had been. 

He moved slowly, as not to make too much noise, but efficiently. He didn’t stop to stare at the paintings with sheets draped over them or to count the rats that ran underneath his feet but he, instead, counted the seconds until he finally came to a door that led to the outside. Tim smothered a cough in his sleeve as the door let out another puff of dust in his face and quickly scrambled outside. 

“Where are you going?” He jumped and swore. 

He spun around so fast he tripped over his own two feet, Conner’s hand closing like a vice around his wrist to stop him from falling over. Conner had a habit, Tim noticed, of looking a bit like a lost and, or, kicked puppy and  _ this _ was certainly no different. Not with Tim somewhere he very much was not supposed to be  _ without _ Conner. “Uh…” He glanced around himself and blinked at the open window five stories up. “Did you jump out of that window?” 

Conner followed his gaze and tilted his own head. “Yes? Is that weird?” 

Yes. 

“Nah, I jump out of windows all the time.” Conner caught the edge of his smile and ducked his head with a blush high on his cheeks. He rubbed at the back of his neck and dropped Tim’s wrists. Adorable, Tim thought, and then remembered where they were. His smile dropped. He really hoped Conner wouldn’t run to tell Dick or Bruce or, worse, Commissioner Gordon. She would and  _ could _ have him spending the night in a holding cell instead of at Wayne Manor. “I have to find my parents, Conner.” 

The thing with Conner was that he was  _ very _ earnest. His blue eyes widened as he nodded. “I know.” He quirked his lips into a tiny half smile. “But you don’t have to go alone.” 

Tim  _ always _ had to go alone. “They’re not going to help.” He crossed his arms and glared at the big manor. “And, if they are, it’ll take too long to catch them up.” 

It wouldn’t take too long to catch them up. Tim wouldn’t be half as smart as he knew he was if he thought that Bruce Wayne was slow, or that Dick Grayson couldn’t keep up with the best of them if he wanted to. You didn’t get labeled World’s Greatest Detective by being unable to follow subtext. “I’m not talking about them.” Conner reminded him gently. 

Tim wasn’t used to anyone  _ wanting _ to help him. But, then again, Conner had offered in the coffee shop a week prior, and then he had brought Gar along with him. They didn’t have time for Tim to argue or push Conner off and they had even  _ less _ time for Tim to try to wrap his head around  _ why _ Conner would want to help him. The fact was that having someone with Conner’s brute strength might come in handy. And the bigger fact that Tim had to admit to himself, because Tim wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself, was that he didn’t  _ want _ to go at it alone. There was a reason why he had brought his findings to Commissioner Gordon in the first place. He squared his shoulders and nodded. “Let’s go, then.” 

\--

“Where do we start?” Conner was buzzing with energy. He hadn’t exactly had a plan when he had jumped out of the window after Tim except to continue helping him on his mission to find his parents. He had been sitting in the same room he had spent every night in Gotham and pretended that he couldn’t hear the rather loud argument Dick and Barbara Gordon were having in a room three floors down. Kori had been in with Gar, talking in smooth and comforting tones and Jason was… wherever Jason went most days. Dick had called back in Dawn, Hank and Rose - they  _ had _ found Jason, after all - and he was arguing with Barbara over using whatever information Tim had given them to help him find his parents. Barbara was like a broken record - no evidence, no evidence, no evidence. Dick had pointed out that  _ he _ didn’t have evidence with his parents either and Conner had squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the way Dick’s voice had twisted when he said it. 

And then he had heard Tim’s heartbeat outside, looked down from his window and seen him softly press a door closed behind him and start across the large, expansive lawn towards somewhere Conner didn’t know. 

It hadn’t been a conscious decision to go after him but Conner didn’t regret it. Tim bit at his bottom lip and jiggled his leg where he was sitting, tapping his fingers over the back of his phone. “I didn’t plan this far ahead.” He admitted after a long moment. “I don’t… I’m so tired.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping. 

“You can take a nap.” Conner offered. “I can keep watch.” They were in the lobby of Drake Industries - it was a tall glass building with a big water fountain in the middle. The security guard had looked at them for only a few minutes and then waved at Tim. He called him  _ Mister Drake _ and then turned back to the book he was reading at the security station. 

Tim breathed in a deep, low breath that shook on it’s way out. Conner didn’t think he was supposed to hear it shake. “No, it’s okay. Let’s get that drive Jason dropped off.” He fished through the mail bin and frowned. 

Empty. 

“Maybe he didn’t drop it off?” Conner offered. 

“No, he wouldn’t lie about that.” Conner felt that Tim didn’t know Jason as well as he liked to pretend he did. “Hey, Luke?” The security guard looked up, a question on his face. “Did you guys already bring up the mail from last night?” 

“Uh, yeah. I think Judy dropped them off upstairs.” 

“Thanks. I’m going to go up to dad’s office, okay?” 

Luke checked his watch with eyebrows up towards his hairline. “It’s a little late for anyone to be up there, Mister Drake.” 

Conner could just punch him and they could go up. 

Tim’s fingers wrapped around his forearm like he knew what Conner was thinking. “Dad told me he’s expecting something from Mister Fox. He wanted me to scan it over to him.” 

Luke narrowed his gaze at Tim and Conner, stared a little too long at Tim’s hand on his arm and then waved whatever question he had away. “Time zones, right? I’ll shut off the alarms for you. But you can’t stay for long, Mister Drake. Tomorrow’s a school day.” 

Tim’s smile was humorless. “Thanks, Luke.” 

The elevator was also glass save for the one metal wall and when Conner looked through it he could see their reflections staring back at them. Tim came up to around Conner’s shoulder and he was slumped back against the wall with a hand running through his hair. He really did look tired. “How much sleep have you gotten since this whole thing started?” He asked absently. 

Tim peaked at him through his fingers. “I don’t have a good track record for sleeping through the night.” He said dryly. “I’m just usually out doing more fun things than hunting down a kidnapper.” 

“Like what?” Kori and Rose would have thought he meant something like partying but Tim didn’t seem like the partying type. 

“Do you know how I  _ actually _ figured out who Batman is?” Tim asked instead of answering. 

Conner shrugged. It hadn’t occurred to him that Tim had been lying before. “You’re smart.” 

“So are you.” Tim teased and the doors dinged before they opened to a big, big room. It had bookshelves lining the walls, a big mahogany desk in front of a row of windows, and a picture of Tim on the desk. Jackson Drake, the nameplate read, CEO. There was a mail holder on the desk and a plain, manila envelope sat in it - unopened and without a return address. “I’m also breaking the law.” Conner blinked and Tim grabbed the sword shaped letter opener to slash across the envelope and poured the contents into his waiting palm. He sat himself down in Jack Drake’s tall leather chair and plugged the drive into the computer. It whirred softly as it turned on. “I followed him.” Conner dropped into the chair opposite the desk and watched as the light from the computer screen lit up Tim’s pale face a faint shade of blue. “Batman, that is. Well… Robin, actually. I used to  _ love _ watching them. Even before I knew who they were. Robin’s a kid, you know? Just like me. And I had a lot of bullies in school so to… to see a  _ kid _ out with Batman was really cool. I  _ did _ recognize the flip Robin did as a move I saw in the circus and then I just… it was obvious.” Tim shrugged and smirked a small smile. “I took pictures. A  _ lot _ of pictures. And then I put two and two together.” 

“Circumstantial evidence and conjecture.” 

Tim nodded. “It made sense, in the end. The more I thought about it.” He paused then, the cursor blinking on the computer screen. “Thank you, by the way.” 

Conner blinked at him and cocked his head to the side. “For what?” 

“For believing me.” 

“It made sense.” Conner assured him. “Once you explained it.” 

Because it  _ had _ made sense, once Tim had explained it. And Conner thought he could understand his frustration too - how was it that no one could see the picture he was painting when the outline was staring them in the face. Tim looked startled, though, almost as though he hadn’t expected Conner to say the same thing he had. “You ready?” He opened the folder the flashdrive contained and Conner nodded, standing up to round the desk and stand behind him. 

“Are you?” Conner didn’t think most people would be  _ ready _ to see a ransom video for their parents. 

“Yeah.” Tim sounded nervous and swallowed hard before double clicking the video file. “How bad can it be?” 

Apparently, it could be very,  _ very _ bad. 

\--

Conner didn’t think he could ever forget the noise a blade made when it sliced across the skin of someone’s throat. The video hadn’t contained any audio except the sound of a dying man choking on his own blood, footsteps carefully walking away, and Janet and Jack Drake screaming against the gags in their mouth but it was enough, really, to get the point across. There had been a rolling text on the bottom of the screen calling for a three with more zeros than Conner thought was normal and a date. 

They had three days. 

Not even a week. 

Tim was still staring at the computer screen. 

They shouldn’t have pressed play. 

Tim moved quick, leaned down and grabbed his father’s wastebasket and vomited whatever he had eaten for dinner. Conner wrinkled his nose at the noise and subsequent smell but he couldn’t blame him for his reaction. Conner was feeling a bit queasy about the video himself and it wasn’t even his family that was being threatened. 

Conner hadn’t been around many people when they were sick but he remembered when Rachel was and how much water Dick had forced on her. Tim’s father’s office had a jug next to glasses on a small table by a giant television mounted against the wall and Conner poured him a glass while he hunched himself over the trash bin. The video was stuck on a close up of cascading blood down a torn open throat. “Three days.” Tim moaned into his hands. “I don’t even know where he is.” 

“Where’s… where’s the Dange guy?” Tim sipped slowly at the glass of water and nudged the trash away from him with his foot. 

“He’s…” Tim fished his phone from his pocket and after a complicated series of taps pulls up a map of the city. It was a smaller one of the map he had shown Conner and Gar in the library and a little red dot was nowhere to be found. “Out of city limits. I can’t track him outside of the city.” 

Well that  _ was _ a problem, wasn’t it. 

“What about… what about… do they say anything in the video?” He leaned forward, dragged the video back to the start and pressed play. He wrinkled his nose at the slow squelch of a knife being dragged against skin and tearing it open and tried to pull his ears away from the sound of Tim’s breath hitching. When Conner glanced at him he wasn’t looking at the person bleeding out but, instead, at his parents in the background, blue eyes shining with unshed, terrified tears. Conner forced himself, instead, to focus on what he could hear in the background - footsteps, and… a conversation. Low and barely there. 

Conner rewound the video again and tilted his head. 

Everything else was so loud but… perhaps… “Les Jardins du Mupanah?” Or something like that. One of the people in the background was going there for a date or something close to that word. 

Tim stared at him for a moment, a tear rolling down his cheek before he lurched forward, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and opened up a web browser. He typed in what Conner had said and pulled up a different map. He let out a breath, a cross between a laugh and sob. “Conner, you’re  _ wonderful _ .” 

He flushed and shrugged. “I didn’t… I just want to help.” 

“You’ve helped.” Tim assured him and then stood abruptly to his feet, slinging his messenger bag back over his shoulder. “We have a location.” 

“Great!” Conner enthused. “Let’s call the others and…” 

“We don’t have the time. Call them on the way.” Tim pressed a button near the elevator and the doors slowly opened. “Tell them to meet us at Port-au-Prince, Haiti.” 

“I don’t have a passport.” Conner said lamely. 

Tim beamed, stood up on his tip toes, and pressed a quick kiss to the space under Conner’s eye. “That’s the  _ easiest _ thing I’ve done this entire week.” 

\--

“You’re going  _ where _ ?” Kori stopped where she was and pulled Dick to a halting stop beside her. He stumbled but obligingly turned around, eyebrows raised and eyes begging for an explanation. “Conner slow down I don’t… Port-au-Prince? Where the hell is that?” 

“Haiti?” Dick always managed to surprise her with the amount of information he had but pretended he didn’t. 

“Why are you going to Haiti?” She tilted her head and listened to his quick and rambled explanation. “We’ll… we’ll meet you there, don’t worry.” 

Kori hung up her phone with a helpless shrug. “You have a passport, Grayson?” 

“Why?” He asked cautiously. 

“Conner’s going to Haiti.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned I couldn't write action, right? 
> 
> Because I can't write action. 
> 
> Apologies for the end.

Conner didn’t know  _ how _ Tim had gotten him on a plane without any identification but he had a feeling it had something to do with money and favors. It should, perhaps, bother him more than it actually did but Tim tended to skirt on, not  _ technically _ illegal and the less Conner knew about things the better. Regardless of  _ how _ Tim had done it, no matter how legal or illegal the means, Conner had sat on a plane ride for several hours on an impromptu, late night, red eye, trip to Haiti. He had fallen asleep somewhere between the first two hours - up in the sky things felt different. Everything seemed lighter flying above the clouds and when Conner woke up it to was to Tim curled in on himself, headphones in and eyes, blissfully, closed. 

He hoped he was sleeping. 

Tim certainly needed it more than anyone Conner had met before. 

And he had spent a great deal of time around the insomniac that was Dick Grayson and the caffeine addict that was Gar Logan. 

Suddenly he missed them - he both loved and hated how Dick took control of a situation like it was second nature. In situations where there was no plan it was truly spectacular to watch the man work. He had an unspoken ability to hold a room’s attention - Dick knew how to wow a crowd and encourage action. Conner hadn’t known Dick for long but he was as much of a naturally born leader as any of them. Kori was too, although Conner thought that was more a testament to her title of Princess. She was soft where Dick was hard, kind where he was unyielding, and funny. Most of all funny. 

Conner wasn’t shocked that, out of all of them, he missed Gar the most. Gar had been the nicest to him when he woke up, aside from Kori. Gar hadn’t treated his powers as odd or anything to be afraid of, had made him feel human, even in the obvious face of how very  _ in _ human Conner was. He felt bad about leaving him behind in Gotham but Tim had needed help. 

The plane rocked with a gust of wind and Conner’s hand, instinctively, grabbed onto the arm rest tightly. It groaned under his strength and, either Tim was an incredibly light sleeper, or he hadn’t been sleeping at all. He blinked open his eyes and furrowed his brow, confused for all of a moment before recognition set in. He stretched his arms above his head and uncurled himself from the window seat, glancing down at the silver watch that wrapped around his wrist and sighing a great, giant sigh. He plucked his earbud from its space previous and muffled a yawn in his forearm. “We have another hour or so.” He told Conner and then slumped back in his seat. 

He had been charging his phone in one of those portable battery packs in the airport and he kept the screen black even then and he looked so incredibly young with his forehead resting lightly against the window of the plane. 

Conner picked at the corner of a nail and nodded. 

He missed Krypto. 

Not only because the dog could  _ fly _ but also because no one except Krypto really understood just how confusing Conner’s life had become. “What’s our plan?” He asked Tim softly to distract him from his own thoughts. 

He had never been outside of the United States before. Or, well,  _ parts _ of him had. Conner had memories of both halves of his DNA on planes and even some of Superman flying into space. Conner wanted to feel the wind on his face like Superman did in those memories and compare it to how it would actually feel against his skin. He wanted to find a seat in first class like Lex Luthor, stretch his legs out in front of him, and take a long pull of alcohol. He wanted to see if it burned his throat the way he remembered it did. 

“I should have one of those, shouldn’t I?” Tim asked the landscape of the world below them. 

Conner frowned. Tim’s voice was rough and exhausted. “Plans are for chumps.” He smiled weakly at his own, pathetic attempt at a joke. 

Tim, though, seemed to appreciate it. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards into the barest hint of a smile and when he glanced at Conner it was with something like gratitude on his face. “I don’t think your team would like you saying that all that much.”

Conner didn’t think his team had ever walked into any situation with even the amount of evidence that Tim had to accurately  _ form _ a plan. “I think we’re a bit more prepared than them, actually.” 

“Really?” Tim’s eyebrows shot up and he sat up a little straighter. “The guy trained by the world’s most paranoid man doesn’t  _ do _ plans?”

“Dick does do plans.” Conner defended weakly. “He doesn’t do plans  _ well _ but he does plans.” 

Tim choked on a laugh and the stewardess, on a pass by, smiled gently at the two of them. The plane was nearly empty, not many tourists wanted to head down to Haiti at that time of year and, if they did, they certainly weren’t flying out of Gotham or at close to one in the morning. They shared the flight mostly with natives heading back home and they had to keep their voices hushed as most of their fellow passengers were sleeping. They were the youngest on the plane and one of the stewardesses had stopped to whisper that if they needed anything to just let her know. Tim said it was customary for the attendants to check on the underage travelers more than they did the average passenger. Flying without a parent tended to be stressful until it became almost second nature. 

“How long have you been with them?” Tim asked suddenly, voice a soft murmur over the hum of the plane’s engine. 

Conner would have been one giant ball of super-powered stress if Tim wasn’t sitting beside him. He tried not to focus on that thought too much. “The team?” Tim nodded and Conner cast his memory back. It hadn’t been that long even if it felt like it had been forever. Probably because it  _ had _ been most of his life. Conner didn’t have memories that were his own that didn’t involve a member of the team one way or another. “Around a year.” 

“Is it cool?” Tim stuffed his arms tighter around himself and curled his body to face Conner’s. They had a seat between them, empty save for Tim’s bag and the snacks they had bought in the airport, and Tim rested his head on the back of the seat with a lazy, soft smile. His foot bumped against Conner’s shin. “Being part of a superhero team?” 

Was it  _ cool _ ? “I don’t know.” 

“No?” 

“Is it cool being rich?” 

“It’s all I’ve known.” Tim shrugged.

Conner matched his shrug with his own and Tim frowned, just a bit. “It’s all I’ve known.” Conner said the words softly as the fact that they were true hadn’t quite occurred to him until then. “I have… I didn’t even exist a year ago. I don’t think I existed a year ago, anyway.” 

Tim’s pink lips formed a small, silent o and then shut in a small, twisted line. He twirled the cord of his ear buds around his finger and stared into Conner’s eyes as though he was trying to figure him out. Conner wanted to know if he  _ could _ figure him out. No one else could or, rather, if they _ did _ they didn’t bother to share that piece of information. “I used to want to be Robin.” Tim started and then stopped, brushed the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and began again. “I think every kid in Gotham wanted to be Robin. He was  _ cool _ , you know? And when I… when I learned he was Dick I used to fantasize about him just coming up to me at a banquet and asking  _ me _ for help.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke, as though he was telling Conner this grand secret that no one else knew. 

It felt important, even if Conner couldn’t place why it did. “I… I would like to meet him. Superman. Or… or even Lex Luthor. To figure out who I am.” 

Tim nodded, slow as ever, and smiled. For a moment Conner thought he would tell him not to try and make both meetings a reality, Dick had said as much and Kori had warned that heroes so rarely met the expectations that were placed on them. Instead, Tim just smiled and said, “I hope they live up to your expectations.” 

Conner licked his lips. “Did they?” He tilted his own head back to rest on the seat like Tim’s, turned so that he faced him, and sprawled his legs on the center seat to frame Tim’s. “Batman and Robin. Did they live up to yours?” 

Tim’s smile turned sad and he shook his head. “No,” He said softly. “But I don’t think that’s their fault. My expectations were too high and they don’t deserve that pedestal I put them on as a kid.” 

“What are you going to do when all of this is over?” Conner hummed and nudged Tim’s leg with his foot. 

“I don’t know.” Tim shrugged and his lips tilted lopsidedly. It wasn’t quite a smile and wasn’t quite a grimace. “I never planned on telling anyone what I knew.” 

“And now everyone knows.” 

“And now everyone knows.” 

Conner tilted his head back, watched the flight attendant bend down to listen to an older lady’s request for a drink, and then looked back at Tim. “You could always be Robin.” 

It startled a laugh from him, loud and unrestricted and he slapped a hand over his mouth almost as soon as it bubbled out. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?” 

“You wouldn’t want to be? If they asked.” 

He didn’t answer one way or another, instead shut his eyes, snuggled deeper into the triangle of his own arms around his chest and tossed his ankle over Conner’s thigh. His lips had a small upwards tilt to them and Conner listened as his breath, slowly, evened out, his hand resting heavy on his ankle to keep him in place. Conner thought his non answer was one regardless. It was something like excitement that pulled at him at the thought. 

Perhaps, after all of this, there  _ would _ be something that kept them tethered together after all. 

\--

Haiti was hot. 

Objectively, Tim  _ knew _ that Haiti was hot. 

Somehow the sticky, heavy heat that stuck to the air was still shocking. 

He wasn’t dressed for the weather. 

Tim shucked off his sweatshirt and stuffed it in his messenger bag, fished out his sunglasses that he always kept in the front pocket and rarely used and perched them on top of his head. It wasn’t quite sunny enough yet for him to wear them but he had a feeling it would be. Conner was a wealth of heat beside him, already dripping sweat down the collar of his shirt and watching the world around him in wonder. 

Tim tried not to let the information Conner had given him overwhelm him or become something that he instantly had to understand. Conner had trusted him with the facts of his life as he knew them - he was half Superman and half Superman’s biggest enemy. He didn’t have a wealth of memories that were his own yet and didn’t even quite know who he even was aside from what the team had assigned to him. Tim didn’t think Dick Grayson or the others had meant any harm in their associations of his attributes but, Tim knew, not meaning harm didn’t stop it from occurring. He would love to spend however long helping Conner figure himself out, but Tim barely even knew himself. And, more importantly, he had more pressing matters to attend to. 

They had lost almost a day on the plane ride to Haiti. If Tim had waited for the team he, possibly, would have gotten to the country in either the same amount of time or quicker. But Tim wasn’t good at  _ waiting _ . At least if they were on the plane he could tell himself he was doing something. 

He had tried to think of a plan in between catching a quick nap but nothing besides the video played behind his eyes. Tim wasn’t irrational. He knew how to compartmentalize. But he was also only fifteen and painfully unaware of what life would be life without his parents in it. 

He didn’t want to have to figure that out.

First thing first, Tim supposed, they would have to get to Port-au-Prince. 

One of the ladies at the cash exchange counter had been kind enough to call him a taxi and the old, yellow ford was waiting at the front of the airport for them when they stepped out. The man was wearing a garish Hawaiin shirt, balked a bit at their age, but said nothing when Tim made a show of counting his money where he could see. Tim hadn’t exchanged anything close to what would be a monumental amount but he  _ had _ exchanged enough to buy them discretion. 

Plus, Tim didn’t have even the slightest idea how much it would cost to buy something like secrets. He had never done anything quite like flying to Haiti to save the lives of his kidnapped parents with a super powered half alien, half human before. His frame of reference was dangerously lacking. 

The taxi ride wouldn’t be far and the driver didn’t try to speak to them much aside from getting the location they were looking to travel to. Conner’s shoulders dropped the moment the air conditioning hit his skin. 

Tim didn’t have the energy left within his body to really pay much attention to the landscape rolling by them. There were brightly colored homes laid across hills and peaks, a bustling atmosphere of humanity starting to wake up and go about their day and the taxi driver blasted a Hatian radio station loud enough it made Tim’s ears ring. The ocean breeze brushed against his face - Tim had never been to the ocean before. Not one like that that bordered Haiti anyway. His closest ocean experience had been a two day trip to Rhode Island before his parents had decided that being expected to entertain their son for an extended period of time was a bit too much to ask for. 

He didn’t think Conner had ever been to one either, if the way his eyes were wider than Tim had ever seen them was anything to go by. He couldn’t help smiling, even against the torrent of anxiety in his belly. 

At least one of them was getting something good out of the trip. 

He could only wish that he would have good memories by the time they left too. 

A scent of spices filled the air and the sound outside from their lowered windows picked up as they turned the corner. Port-au-Prince, Tim decided, was gorgeous. 

It was certainly like nothing he had ever seen in Gotham or even Metropolis. The trees were a bright, deep green, the people lively in the streets and standing in lines outside of businesses, and green, yellow, red, orange homes lined the hillsides like they were part of the lush scenery. There were brightly decorated busses waiting for passengers to pile into and on top of them before they started going to their destinations, and street vendors setting up fruit, art, and tourist trinket stands. 

They would have to come back, Tim decided. When things weren’t so dire. 

The taxi driver pulled up to the curb outside of a big, white, fancy hotel. The same one Tim had given him the name of after a quick google search. He had the money to pay for a few nights stay - he figured they could take a shower, wash off the grime of the day, and figure out what to do next while waiting on Conner’s team. Not that Tim planned to wait on them for long. If he found a trail to follow before they arrived in Haiti he would follow it regardless of their location status. He was sure that Bruce Wayne could foot the bill for whatever quick flight the team may deem necessary to arrive as back up. 

A sick, traitorous part of him, wondered if they would bother showing up as backup. 

“Thank you,” He handed the taxi driver a handful of cash that he didn’t even bother counting, took a bit of pleasure in the way his eyes widened at the amount, and stumbled out of the car, Conner only a moment behind him. They stood outside of the car, heat pounding down on them and a gentle breeze bringing in the scent of ocean, spices, and baked goods.

Tim didn’t know what he was doing. 

But it was okay, he thought, because at least Conner didn’t know what he was doing either. 

He squared his shoulders and forced an uneasy smile on his face. “Let’s go get a room.” 

\--

“Haiti?” Dawn asked, her usually sweet voice incredulous. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Hank in front of the fireplace that Kori was pretty sure never even got used. Either that or the big house retained a great deal of dust. Kori had only known Alfred Pennyworth for a short amount of time but even she didn’t think he would  _ ever _ let a surface go undusted for as long as that layer of dust seemed to suggest. “Why would Conner go to  _ Haiti _ ?” 

“ _ How _ would Conner go to Haiti?” Hank asked in the same tone of voice he usually did whenever Dick suggested something. 

Kori repressed the urge to roll her eyes at the two of them. She liked Hank and Dawn, honestly they were what Kori would call friends, but  _ sometimes _ , just sometimes, they talked to Dick like he was the thing that caused whatever rift was constantly between them. It wasn’t her place, though, to correct their wrongs and Dick had proved himself more than capable of dealing with his own problems. Still, Hank was combative and he brought out the combative side of Dick and Kori, while she liked  _ most _ sides of Dick, wasn’t the biggest fan of the one that felt he had to fight for any of the credit he was due. 

“Tim’s rich.” Gar offered from where he was standing next to Kori, or, rather, just a bit behind her. He didn’t like it when the others blamed Dick for their issues either, she knew, and out of all of the team Gar had been through the most. Kori loved him, like she loved Blackfire and Rachel. She wanted nothing more than to protect Gar from whatever horrors in the world seemed intent to descend upon him. 

And she was neither slow nor unobservant. 

Gar had grown close to Conner in the time the team was off dealing with Deathstroke and Jason and Cadmus. He would follow Dick’s lead up until he was asked to choose. Kori thought that he would follow whatever Rachel did but, as they grew closer, she wasn’t entirely sure of that either. Gar adored Dick, and he loved Rachel, but he had been ignored, belittled and betrayed throughout most of his life. Conner was a strong pillar of truth and honesty. He was the best of them, really. Him and Gar together. 

Both of them, Kori knew, had sided with Tim. 

She wondered, briefly, what it was that they had seen in him to draw them so close. As far as Kori could see he was a scrawny fifteen year old with an attitude problem. But there was something about the way he held himself that made her curious. He was strong, in the way that Dick was strong. He was smart in the way that Bruce Wayne was smart. 

He was  _ interesting _ , as the thing. A variable that none of them had expected to be thrust into their lives. 

A smart civilian wasn’t exactly unheard of. 

A smart civilian that wasn’t afraid to mouth off to Batman, Nightwing and Jason Todd was something else entirely. 

Dick pointed at Gar as though his words were enough explanation and Kori supposed they were. The two of them, her and Dick, had grown up in a society where having money meant the difference between going hungry and being overfed. He had confided in her, late one night, how difficult it had been to settle into  _ Bruce Wayne’s _ life. It wasn’t the title of Batman or training expectations but the  _ wealth _ and  _ title _ and  _ attention _ . Dick hadn’t been called anything other than Bruce Wayne’s Charity Project until he had left Gotham. Kori didn’t blame him for the resentment he held for the older man. 

Still, there was some familiarity there. Bruce Wayne  _ did _ keep a few pictures of him on the mantle. “I’m confused.” Rose crossed her arms and shifted her weight back and forth. Always ready to spring into a fight. “What’s in Haiti?” 

“We’re… not really sure.” Dick admitted and rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“ _ Why _ would we go to Haiti, then?” Rose asked for what had to be the tenth time. 

Gar flinched and Kori sighed. “Conner’s a part of this team.” Dick always sounded so  _ earnest _ . It would be annoying if it wasn’t so incredibly endearing. 

“Tim’s research says this guy is a serial killer.” Gar pointed out helpfully. “If he’s not stopped then…” Dick looked at his shoes and leaned back, a bit, into the press of Kori’s fingertips. “Well then he’s down two parents and Conner might leave the team.” 

“Conner wouldn’t leave the team.” Rose sighed, resigned in a way that told Kori that she knew that Conner might, actually, leave the team. “Is Jason helping?” It was always Jason with her. Jason, Jason, Jason. Deathstroke, Jericho, Jason. Kori wondered if the girl had any other thoughts besides the men that shaped her. 

“Jason’s…” Staying in Gotham. “Makes his own decisions.” Dick settled with. 

Interesting. 

If Jason went did that mean that Gotham would be unprotected? 

“I’m not saying that Tim and Conner don’t deserve our help,” Dawn said in her slow, calming voice. The problem with Dawn, Kori thought sometimes, was that she was never condescending. She really was  _ just _ a nice person. She wondered if Barbara liked her or if she found her annoying. Barbara was awfully brash for someone in charge of the police department but, then again, she supposed she had to be. Gotham was a brash place and it was never very kind to soft people. Look what it had done to Dick, after all. “I’m just worried about what we’re walking into.” 

“We’ve gone against black magic types before.” Dick argued. 

“Yeah with backup.” Hank shot back. 

“Maybe this is better suited for Zatanna.” Dawn bit at her lip. “Or even Constantine.” 

“Why are we arguing about this?” Gar growled, face drawn in frustration. Kori placed a quelling hand on his arm but he shook her off. “Conner’s part of this team, he’s our  _ friend _ , and he needs help. If  _ we  _ don’t help them who will?” 

Kori saw Dick react before she even knew he was there. His back muscles jumped under her hands and when she followed his gaze it was to see Bruce Wayne, back straight, hair slicked back, and the lines in his face betraying his age a bit too well. His lips were pursed and he stared at the gathered team with something close to pride on his face. Not that he would ever say it. Not that that, really, was the butt of all of his problems with Dick. Treat a child like a soldier, she wanted to say, and you shouldn’t be surprised when they start to dissent. “I will.” Bruce said after a moment of simply looking. “Nightwing and the Titans will stay here.” 

“No.” Kori said before Gar could. “We don’t know what Conner’s powers are fully and as the only other alien in this city I think I’m the only one that could stop him if he acts out.” 

“I’m going with her.” Gar argued too, just as Dick opened his mouth. “I signed on to help Conner and Tim. I’m not backing out now.” He stood toe to toe with Dick, green eyes pointed upwards to stare into the depth of Dick’s brown. “This is what heroes do.” 

Dick’s lips twitched. Kori knew he was fighting a smile even if he wouldn’t say it. “Go,” he said instead. “Bring them home safe.” 

Home.

Kori knew he wasn’t referring to Gotham but, rather, to the team. 

Bruce’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “I really think it’s best -.” 

“Conner’s part of our team,” Dick cut his protest off. “You don’t get to make the call on how  _ I _ protect my team. You’re going to protect Gotham. They’re going to protect him.” 

It would have been scary if it wasn’t so damn  _ attractive _ to watch him take charge. And shut up the Batman. Kori appreciated a bit too much how the older man’s jaw snapped shut and he nodded once, conceding to his protege in a way that most would never have expected. Then again, not many had been stuck between a rock and Dick Grayson. Kori pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll be back soon.” 

“Keep them safe.” He nearly begged and squeezed her hand before letting it go. 

Kori thought she could love him, given enough time. 

And wasn’t that a pickle to be stuck in?

\--

Tim Drake, it seemed, had the ability to pull the smallest amount of information from various sources and form a logical conclusion. Conner had known him little over a week and he  _ knew _ that he shouldn’t have been shocked or impressed by it. 

But he was.

Conner ran the towel over his hair again and asked for clarification one more time. It wasn’t that he was having trouble following exactly, but more that Tim spoke very fast when he was excited about something. “Where did I lose you?” Tim asked, blinked behind his sunglasses, and went to start over again. 

He was sitting on the balcony of their room - _ rooms _ , Conner thought to himself, because Tim hadn’t spared any expense, only pulled out a shiny black card and handed it over when they had checked in. He had flipped all four locks as well as the Do Not Disturb sign on the door the moment they had entered and had promptly stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. It gave Conner a moment to catch his breath. He was in an entirely different country, the air was sticky warm compared to the chill that was in Gotham and it was much sunnier in Haiti than it ever had a chance of being where Tim was from. The other boy looked pale against the brightness of Haiti, but it wasn’t an unhealthy pale, only one that spoke of delicate porcelain over rough leather. 

Tim’s eyes had lingered a bit on Conner’s bare torso, his cheeks reddened for a moment before he turned back to his laptop’s screen. Of course he had brought that with them, Conner thought. How could he have ever expected him not to. He was a bit concerned  _ how _ Tim managed to fit so much in the messenger bag, though. If only because the science behind it didn’t really make sense. “You found him?” Conner prompted, sat down in his jeans and the tank top Tim had somehow procured for him down in the hotel lobby (it had the hotel’s logo on it in a bright, hot pink) and draped the towel over his shoulders. 

“Well, no,” Tim admitted. “I found Dange. The tracker lit up again once I got cell service back.” 

“That’s good right? Find Dange, we find Obeah.” 

“It’s good.” Tim didn’t sound so sure. “It’s just…” 

“It’s just what?” 

“My tracker’s not supposed to work outside of the cell towers it can ping off of.” Tim shrugged hopelessly. “So I haven’t actually decided if it’s a good thing it’s working now or if it’s really,  _ really _ bad.” 

Conner didn’t understand the exact science behind trackers but some of his memories told him that Tim’s worries weren’t unfounded. “It could be a set up.” 

“It probably _ is _ a set up.” Tim admitted, shoulders slumped. “But I don’t know if it’s a set up for  _ me _ or…” 

“Or?”

“Or for Batman.” 

Right. “Well, what’s the difference, really?” 

“I’m not Batman so that’s one pretty big one.” 

Conner rolled his eyes. “In how we respond. What’s the difference in that? I got a message from Gar saying that him, Kori, and Bruce are on the way. They should be here within the day.” 

“But if they get here just a moment too late my parents will be dead.” 

“If the set up  _ is _ for Batman then they won’t be expecting us.” Conner paused and then gestured at his chest. “Me.” 

“But if the set up is for us then they won’t be expecting our back up.” 

“So either way…” 

“But that’s all assuming that the Obeah Man isn’t always two steps ahead of us. It seems fishy that the tracker pinged the moment we checked in. Drake isn’t a popular name, at least not in Haiti, so it wouldn’t be shocking if whoever this guy is put an alert on if anyone with that name entered into the borders. Additionally, if they  _ did _ and they’re even a hint smarter than we think they are, they could  _ easily _ be trying to lure  _ all  _ of us into this trap. It wasn’t hard for me at  _ nine _ to figure out who Batman is - if the Obeah Man has both Bruce Wayne and Jack and Janet Drake he could bleed Gotham of all of its money. As well as the financial backing of  _ your _ team and the Justice League.” 

“Batman funds the Justice League?” 

“That’s not the point I’m trying to make.” Tim scoffed with a small roll of his shoulders. 

Conner flicked him a small smile. “I know, I know. But…” He sighed. Tim made a lot of good points. “What do you want to do, Tim?” 

His blue eyes were earnest. “If we go, we could very well be killing ourselves. I don’t know anything about this guy except the rumors he works with black magic.” 

“And if we don’t?” 

“Then my parents die. And we lose the closest lead anyone has ever gotten to this monster.” 

His hand was soft under Conner’s, eyes earnest and bottom lip pulled until his top row of teeth. “So Tim, what do you want to do?” 

“I want there to be a way to avoid walking into a trap and save my parents at the same time.” 

“Okay,” Conner nodded. “Let’s do that then.” 

“Conner we can’t just  _ do that _ .” 

“Why not? You’re smart, I’m literally half alien and half evil mastermind. If we can’t do this who can?” 

\--

“This is a stupid idea.” Tim reiterated for his own benefit. He knew Conner knew just how terrible of a plan their bare bones plan was, Tim didn’t have to keep saying it. Still, it made him feel better to keep bringing it up. Because if he  _ stopped _ bringing it up he would be oddly impressed by the simplicity of it. 

And how it it had somehow managed to work as far as it had. 

The plan had a simple basis, Tim was to play up the spoiled rich kid card looking for a fun night in a foreign city. Conner was his best friend from California (because Conner did  _ not _ look like a Gothamite, not with  _ that _ skin tone and muscle definition) and Tim had just so happened to steal his parents’ credit card and jump on a plane to Haiti because what else did impulsive, spoiled rich kids do when their parents were away on business trips. Tim didn’t  _ actually _ know. While he was actually impulsive, spoiled and rich he tended to spend the majority of his time at the library or wandering after Batman and Robin in some very questionable part of Gotham. 

Basically, they made a lot of noise and spent  _ a lot _ of money. 

They bought everyone’s dinner for two hours at a popular tourist destination - just handed over Tim’s black card and told them to keep charging for that period of time. They obnoxiously danced to street buskers and dropped hundreds in their cases. They bought souvenirs and rented an expensive race car that neither of them could drive just to lend out to a taxi driver to chauffeur them wherever they needed. It was careless and, honestly, a little fun, and Tim could only bring himself to feel mildly guilty over the way his smile wasn’t faked while his parents were probably off being tortured or something. 

It had the desired effect. 

The more money Tim waved about having the more people came up to invite them to things. 

It was only a matter of time before they got invited what they actually wanted the invite to. 

It happened sooner than Tim thought it would. 

“There’s this ritual,” Roseline, a food vendor that they had left a two hundred dollar tip at when buying bottles of water, said conversationally, her brown eyes sparkling as she leaned across her stand. “It’s down by the water. Near the rocks. The man there can walk on fire.” 

Tim swallowed a gulp of the cold drink before answering, his interest piqued. “Oh?” He tried not to let his excitement show. 

“You and your boyfriend should come.” She winked, eyes roaming up and down Conner’s body. “We do not usually let tourists come but you two seem fun.”   
“We’re very fun.” Conner agreed perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. 

Thankfully, Roseline seemed inclined to believe that they had consumed a bit more alcohol than either was willing to let be known. “It starts at sundown.” 

They thanked her with easy smiles and Tim with a knot in his chest and walked away, the soft warm sand flowing over his toes and shoes banging against his shoulder where he had slung them earlier. They had around another two hours until sundown and, really, Tim didn’t exactly know what to do with himself. 

He was patient, yes, but he didn’t like  _ waiting _ . Not like this. Not with the knot in his chest and sun burning a hole his eyes. He was pretty sure he was going to be severely sunburnt. 

It would all be okay, though. 

Once they found his parents everything would be okay. 

Conner did a little victory dance in the sand, feet twisting side to side and grey tank top, just a shade too big, flowing with the breeze with his movements. “We did it!” He sang softly to himself. 

In the week Tim had known Conner  _ this _ , right there, feet dug in the sand on a beach in Haiti miles and miles away from friends and family and any sort of friendly faces, was the happiest and most free Tim had ever seen him. Perhaps all it took was some perspective. 

They  _ were _ farther off than they were even an hour before. Sure, it felt a bit like celebrating prematurely but what was life without even the smallest of celebrations? 

Conner insisted on eating dinner with their ankles in the crashing ocean waves as it broke over the shore, water bottles stuffed into their back pockets and laughter staining their lips. He listened when Tim told him about school, the embarrassing times he nearly fell to his death scaling Gotham buildings and rooftops and told Tim his own stories about training with Kori and playing video games with Gar. He didn’t have as many as Tim did, not that were his own, but he still seemed to know more than others expected of him. 

“Have you heard from Gar yet?” Tim asked, licking the salt from his fingers and narrowing his gaze at the setting sun over the horizon. It lit up the ocean with gentle tendrils of fire and set aflame the nerves that were dancing low in his gut. 

“Not since they left.” Conner kicked at the water and watched it splash against the tide. “I think I like the ocean.” 

Tim smiled despite the queasy feeling in his stomach. “I really hope this trip doesn’t ruin it for me.” 

Conner heaved a deep breath, brushed his shoulder against Tim’s and then his pinky before weaving his fingers between Tim’s own down by his thigh. He squeezed and let Tim squeeze back and he said nothing as they stood watching the sun fade under the water. “You ready?” He asked only when Tim blinked away to stare at the shadow of his jaw. 

“No,” Tim admitted with a shrug. “But I have to be.” 

“We do this together.” 

Conner was handsome. Much more handsome than Tim thought he even knew. He didn’t look exactly like Superman or Lex and there was a curve to his eyebrow and bow of his lips that was all  _ him _ . He was handsome, Tim thought, because he was Conner. Not because of the DNA he shared with two men that couldn’t stand each other. If they could come together to create something as wonderful as Conner, what else would they be able to do if they could put aside their difference and learn to work together? “Together.” Tim’s lips twitched into the shadow of a smile and only when they walked away towards the rocks, did he let Conner’s hand drop from his own. 

  
  


\--

Conner didn’t innately have a fear of fire, Kori could summon it from her hands and it gave life as much as it took it away. Fire couldn’t really harm anything but the clothes on his back and he had always found it rather pretty to look at. 

But none of the fire he had ever seen before in his life - or in the memories that didn’t belong to him - felt as menacing as the one they were standing in front of. Tim had been silent ever since the beach, blue eyes shooting left and right to catalogue and memorize everything that he could. He held his body tense, although Conner didn’t know if it was because he was poised to run or poised to fight. He wanted to hold his hand again, to be able to smooth his thumb over the pounding pulse in his veins and hopefully reassure him that everything would be all right. 

Except there was no way Conner could promise that. 

The world didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to putting a stop to the Obeah Man. Who was Conner to say that they would be any different? There were no odds to calculate on their team up yet. Sure, they had managed to connect the dots and track him but that didn’t mean they’d be able to stop him. 

The music around them - played by people with black and white face paint and red dripped down the front of their white shirts - cut off abruptly and the crowd around them grew silent. 

Almost as though he needed the comfort himself, Tim shifted closer, shoulder brushing against Conner’s and eyes staring intently into the large column of fire that spread from the shore to the top of the rocks. “My brothers!” An accented voice cried out from the top of the rock formation and Conner had seen a lot of things, but never something as absurd as a man standing on top of burning hot coals in bare feet without even flinching. He too wore the back and white face paint, a black silken top hat upon his head and brown, steaming walking stick at his side. His shirt billowed with the smoke and when he smiled it made something within Conner spike with warning. “My sisters!” 

Superman, his memories told him, did terrible against magic. 

“Today we sacrifice the  _ rich _ to Baron Samedi! So that  _ we _ shall walk among the spirits of our ancestors once more!” A cheer shook through those gathered and Tim’s hand shot down to curl around Conner’s own. 

This was a terrible idea, Conner thought. What were they going to do to help the Drakes? There were so many of the bad guys and only Tim and Conner to stand against them. 

The Obeah Man, Conner realized with a start, was wearing a necklace of human bone and the stone atop his walking stick was, actually, that of a skull. A chill ran down his spine. “Jackson and Janet Drake.” The Obeah Man gestured in front of him and a pillar of flame shot out. When it receded two people stood in its place, a circle of fire around their feet and trapping them in place. They looked terrible, but Conner hadn’t expected anything less after the week they had been forced to endure. 

Tim looked nothing like his father, but still the older man’s eyes seemed to seek him out immediately and they shot wide with fear at the recognition. 

Superman, if he was there, would have been able to blow out the flame. 

Maybe. 

Possibly. 

“They did not sacrifice their riches to save their lives like so many before them.” The Obeah Man continued. “And so they will be punished by the ancestors and made to walk the coals.” 

“He’ll burn off their feet.” Tim sounded absolutely sick at the thought. 

“I’ll get to them.” If only Conner could figure out  _ how _ . 

If only they had a plan for  _ this _ . 

“But first,” The Obeah Man waved his hand and was suddenly, in a gust of smoke and ash, standing in front of the Drake’s, a menacing smile on his face and a glass bottle between his fingers. “You drink the toxin.” 

How could he expect them to walk the coals if they had toxin in their system? 

Easy, the part of him that was Lex whispered in his ear, he doesn’t expect them to survive at all. 

The Obeah Man held it tauntingly against Janet’s chapped, pale lips and grabbed onto the back of her neck to tip her head back. She fought with all that her small body could allow. Janet must have had some previous technique and training, but she was tired and hurt and the Obeah Man easily overpowered her with strength alone. He tugged her neck far enough that Conner could hear the bones grind as if about to snap. His fingers forced the liquid down her throat, held a hand over her nose and mouth until she swallowed it whole and then turned to do the same to Jack as she sputtered on her hands and knees, coughing. 

Conner acted. He was sure Superman would have waited to move, but Conner had never felt  _ less _ like Superman than he did at that moment. He jolted forward and then sharply back, the curve of a blade held tauntingly in front of his throat. 

He didn’t think the blade could do anything to him - his skin was bulletproof but he hadn’t ever had the need to test it against blades. Perhaps he should have. 

Well, no time like the present. 

Conner heaved a deep breath and moved to go against absolutely every self preservation instinct he had and… The person holding the blade fell back with a loud crash. They screamed as their hair caught fire from the edge of the flames and Conner blinked the shock out of his face.  _ He _ hadn’t done that. 

Tim had. 

He must have moved quickly, his right hand closing around the person’s boney wrist and tugging them close enough to catch his elbow to their forehead. 

The Obeah Man smiled wide and flung his arms out to his sides. “Timothy Drake!” He greeted Tim as though he was an old friend. “And you brought Superman. What a  _ joy _ .” His smile was cruel and ignited something terrible inside the well of Conner’s stomach. 

They thought he was Superman. 

They were in for a terrible surprise. 

The biggest difference, Conner thought as he surged forward, was that Superman had very clear cut morals. He was a fan of negotiating the situation before acting. Of kindness of cruel actions. He would never purposely harm, never purposely do damage. 

Conner wasn’t 100% Superman’s clone. 

And he tended to have an anger problem. 

Followers converged upon him, hands tearing at skin where they could and ripping and slashing at clothes as though it could pull him into a stop. Conner was painfully aware of every step Tim made - every twist of his body and quick, barely trained movements to disarm. But where blades did nothing to Conner, Tim was painfully human. He yelped in shock at the slice of a blade down the length of his arm and Conner stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing in on the tendrils of blood as they curled down his pale skin. 

The man holding the machete that had sliced Tim reared the blade upright again, two hands curled around the blade and Jack Drake’s dull screams fading into the background of Conner’s mind and who did he go to? Who did he help? Did he help Tim as he wrestled with the man holding the blade, back pressed against jagged rock and blood cascading down his arm, or did he go to Jack and Janet in a circle of flame? The Obeah Man smiled cruelly, dipped his hat in Conner’s direction and pushed Jack into a panel of flames that shot upwards. Janet screamed out, Conner’s eyes widened and he rushed to catch, to stop, to do  _ something _ and the Obeah Man disappeared into a flash of smoke. 

Only to fall back down onto the same pillar of fire with a crash, four green and black paws pressing their claws into the skin of his chest. 

It wasn’t too late so much as it wasn’t soon enough. When the Obeah Man collapsed onto the flames they abruptly smoldered. A bright flash of light struck the man holding a machete to Tim backwards and slamming into the sand. And Batman, because it  _ was _ Batman, was descending upon anyone that dare fight him with an aggressive abandon Conner had never seen before. He would have been amazed if he wasn’t so very angry. 

The Obeah Man wrestled with the teeth of Gar’s tiger form for a long moment, Gar’s teeth clenching into the skin of his arm and the cat yelped when he was successfully shaken off. Jack Drake was on his hands and knees, crawling his injured and broken body quickly to where Janet had dropped to her side, chest heaving for breath and eyes unfocused. They didn’t have time. 

Conner rushed to their side but backwards with the Obeah Man’s hand drifting out in front of him and a snarl on his face. 

Magic, Conner remembered, was one of Superman’s only weaknesses. 

Conner, while not 100% Superman, still shared 50% of his DNA. Magic wouldn’t hold him forever but it  _ would _ slow him down. 

He stumbled forward three steps and then back two. 

It was too slow. 

He was moving too slow. 

Something black and silver glinted in the moonlight and struck itself into the Obeah Man’s forearm. He fell with a sharp yell, pried it from his skin and glared. “This is not a problem for  _ Batman _ !” He screamed into the face of the superhero, rage coating his words. 

Batman didn’t cower. “My people are my problem.” 

“You’re too late! The Baron has already claimed them.” 

Kori was holding back a great deal of the followers, Gar was growling from where he stood beside Conner, and Tim… Tim was in the way of a silver blade shooting through the air. Conner saw it in slow motion, grabbed him around the waist and spun the two of them to the ground so that Tim’s chest was resting atop of his. He had dirt and grime, blood and sweat on his face, smudging his cheeks and he rubbed a sleeve over his eyes until they were clear. It looked like the inverse of the mask Jason used to wear - pale around his eyes and dark everywhere else. 

He heard the knife make contact before he heard the scream. 

It had found a home. 

In the base of Jack Drake’s spine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! We're almost done this part of their story. And who knows... maybe there will be another installment along the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you. This chapter is not on the same caliber as the rest of the fic but uh... hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you all for coming on this wild ride with me. 💜💙

“What’s going to happen to him?” Barbara knew what Dick was actually asking, even as he rested his body against her window with arms crossed. His breath fogged the glass and forehead pressed just above it, old eyes looking down at the city they had dedicated their childhoods to. Sometimes Barbara wondered if they had helped anyone in Gotham or just made things worse. She knew Dick wondered the same thing, late at night with shadows under his eyes when the nightmares and failures kept them awake. They had been doing this for a long, long time. 

Barbara wanted to ask Bruce, sometimes, if it was worth it. She understood that Bruce hadn’t exactly known how to handle his own emotions, let alone an angry Dick when he was young, and she couldn’t blame him for doing the best that he could to teach him to protect himself. Barbara held no qualms that even without his training  _ she _ would have stepped out to protect the city in any way she was allowed. But if Bruce hadn’t started it all by putting on a mask and standing above the law, she wondered, would either of them have signed away their lives the way that they recklessly had? 

That wasn’t what Dick was asking, though. Their fate had been sealed a long time ago, Dick when he was nearing twelve and Barbara fourteen. She knew, out of the two of them, that Dick understood the hollow shadow in Tim Drake’s face better than she ever could. Her mother had died when she was almost too young to even remember her, after all, and her father, although flawed, was still walking the earth, as alive and healthy a Jim Gordon could ever be. She knew Kori had described in detail what happened to Dick earlier and that he had omitted parts of the story for what he perceived was Barbara’s sake. Still trying to be the hero even when Barbara didn’t need one. 

Sometimes she missed Donna more than she could put into words. Donna always forced Dick to talk more than anyone else was able to. 

Then again, Barbara thought with a twist of her stomach and swirl of the brown liquid in her glass, Kori could probably do just as well even if she hadn’t known him for as long as either of them. Her jealousy was idiotic and childish, Barbara knew that. But Dick… he had been hers long before he had been anyone else’s. And she had been his. He had been with her when she needed him to be and, well, she had never thought there would be a time that he  _ wouldn’t _ be. Barbara knew it was unfair, Kori was a wonderful, strong woman and Dick belonged to  _ no one _ , he was his own person with agency, thoughts and emotions. But just because she knew it was unfair didn’t mean that her feelings would disappear overnight. 

Barbara swallowed down her uneasy feelings with her whiskey and tapped her fingers on the side of the glass. They jutted out at odd angles from the amount of times she had broken them. “Social services will step in, I guess.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t think they ever named a guardian in the event of anything happening to them.” 

Dick’s arms hugged tighter against his chest. “They didn’t think anything would happen to both of them.” 

Or they didn’t care enough about their child to think that far ahead. Barbara wasn’t one to judge, really, that wasn’t her job. But she strongly disliked the Drake’s for multiple reasons, the strongest being the mistreatment and neglect of their only child. Tim Drake was smart and ridiculously clever. It didn’t shock her that he had figured out what their identities were based on the way Dick carried himself (he moved uniquely, he  _ fought _ uniquely). She knew a talent like that didn’t emerge overnight. It was a healthy dose of imagination and brilliance mixed with no adult supervision. Outside of a nanny. “The state will find him a foster home to go to until his father wakes up and is deemed well enough to be responsible for his kid’s wellbeing.” 

“ _ If _ Jack wakes up.” 

It was a pity that neither of them was any good at pretending that they didn’t see every possible way things could go wrong. “If.” She raised her glass in his pitiful direction and swallowed another mouthful until it was empty. 

“You know Gotham’s social services aren’t exactly incorruptible.” Barbara didn’t  _ actually _ know exactly how Dick had come to be in Bruce’s care. Those records were sealed even to the Commissioner of the Gotham Police Department and Dick never wanted to talk about it. There were rumors, of course, about how there were a lack of homes with an open bed when he was first taken in and so he was placed, rather unfortunately, in a juvenile detention center. But those were just rumors and that wasn’t exactly an easy sort of thing to bring up into casual conversation.  _ Hey Dick, _ she could imagine asking over dinner,  _ did you get put into literal prison right after your parents died or was Bruce their first choice for you? _ She couldn’t see that going over well. 

That wasn’t exactly what he was saying, though. Tim Drake had money, an inheritance, and, when he turned eighteen, the control over most of Gotham’s companies and infrastructure. Who knew the types of people that would try to bring him into their “families”. Who knew how many would be good and how many would be bad. 

The worry was one Barbara had too. “What would you suggest I did, Dick? Just take the kid in myself?” 

His eyes sparked at the suggestion and Barbara tensed. Oh she knew  _ that _ expression. She knew that expression well. “No,” She leaned forward and planted both hands on the wood of her desk, eyes boring into his silhouette. “Dick,  _ no _ .” 

“I’m not saying  _ you _ do.” 

“You shouldn’t either! You’d have to stay  _ here _ in order for the courts to even consider it and, Dick, there’s no way they’d consider it. You’re too young, you  _ don’t _ have a stable job or a place to live -.” 

“I’m the Prince of Gotham,” he said with a screwed up wrinkle in his nose. He  _ hated _ that title but Dick wasn’t one to just toss a gift away. He’d use the title if it suited his needs. “They’d probably give me whatever I asked for.” 

“There are  _ rules _ and  _ procedures _ ,” she insisted. “And what do you even know about raising a kid?” 

“I’m sure I could figure it out.” 

“Like you’ve figured out running a team.” Barbara countered. “And what about that team, huh? What about  _ Nightwing _ . Or… Or Jason? Are you just going to give them up?” 

“Barbara that’s not fair.” It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t given up Batgirl, after all. Even if she  _ should _ have. 

“And would it be fair to him? To go live with you when you’re attention is split after the trauma he’s just been through?” 

“I’m not Bruce.” 

“I think you’re more like him than you want to admit you are.” Dick flinched and Barbara settled back in her seat. 

She was being rude and uncalled for. Dick  _ wasn’t _ like Bruce and he only ever acted like him when he didn’t know how else to handle the situation. She didn’t doubt that he would do well by Tim Drake, even. Dick was a natural at caring for others, it was his  _ thing _ as much as computers were hers. He led with his heart. That’s what made her so worried. 

Or perhaps it was because she didn’t want to see him take ten steps back again. 

Dick was never meant to be stuck in Gotham. He was never meant to be tethered to the gargoyles and city limits like her or Bruce. He was a traveler, a performer, a beacon for so many as Robin, Nightwing or even just a boy from the circus. He would stay if he had to but it would eat him alive like it had been doing before he left in the first place. 

And there were more important things for Dick Grayson than Gotham could ever offer him. “Look, Dick…” 

She had meant to apologize but Dick cut her off with a wave of his hand. An apology wouldn’t sit well, then, and perhaps it never would. They had known each other for too long to not be aware of the easiest ways to hurt one another. Dick so rarely targeted her the way she tended to target him. Perhaps, that was why they didn’t work. Why they would never work. They were on equal footing but not the way they needed to be in order to survive romantically. Barbara would never trust anyone else to have her back in battle or protect her life and interests, but she didn’t trust herself with a heart like his to keep safe. “I get it. I shouldn’t take care of a kid.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“It wasn’t what I meant either.” 

Barbara wrinkled her forehead at him. “What  _ did _ you mean?” She asked the question slowly, carefully, a warning in her voice. 

He smiled his charming, boyish smile at her and winked. “You’ll see.” 

\--

The stitches itched. 

Or, well, Conner thought they must have itched because Tim kept picking at them. Every time his nails would dig into the stitch too hard, though, he would stop and frown before moving onto something else. Like scratching at the corner of his mouth, or toying with his strands of hair or staring off into the depths of the white walls of the hospital room. Conner shouldn’t feel as awkward as he did, but he had never been a witness to grief like that before. 

Bruce Wayne had gotten them onto a plane after the hospital, had reassured Tim in a soft voice that Conner wasn’t supposed to hear that Jack Drake would be transferred back to Gotham General the moment the staff got him stable, and then disappeared into the front of the cabin. Gar had fallen asleep an hour into the flight and Kori had been busy filling Dick in on everything they missed. Typically, Conner thought he would be happy to have some time alone with Tim but not now. Not when he didn’t know how to handle  _ whatever _ it was Tim was going through. 

Anyone else would have been better suited. 

_ Anyone _ else. 

Except, well, there was no one else available to help. Not unless Kori got off the phone, Gar woke up, or Bruce Wayne appeared from where he had hidden himself. “Are you okay?” Conner’s shoulders jumped at Tim’s soft, dry voice and he observed the other boy with wide, wide eyes. Was  _ he _ okay? Conner… Conner felt okay. 

“I’m okay.” Except he felt a little silly saying so. Conner had never been part of a failing mission with the team before and it sat heavy like a stone in the bottom of his throat. He would get over it he was sure, or at the very least grow used to it. “Are…” He cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Are you okay?” 

Tim’s lips wobbled their way into a smile and it hurt Conner to look at him. 

He hadn’t cried, which Conner felt was a bit odd. Everything on television and movies and books had people crying when a loved one died. Then again, Tim had mentioned that he wasn’t close to his parents. Maybe he didn’t feel the death as strongly as the media told Conner he ought to. Or maybe… maybe it was like Kori had told him - everyone grieves differently. And there was no handbook on what it had to look like. “We didn’t do too bad, right?” His voice sounded terrible when he spoke, like it was pulling at his throat on its way up and out. He hadn’t slept, Conner remembered, since the plane ride to Haiti. “Like… on a scale of one to ten we did about a five.” 

Tim chuckled and Conner forced a small upturn of his lips to show that he was listening. Was following what Tim was laying out for him. Even if… well he wasn’t. “Half credit?” He joked back hesitantly. 

“Considering the death and coma I’ll list the mission at a 25% success rate.” Tim laughed, and then laughed some more, laughs that started out as giggles and then grew more delirious the more he tried to tamp them down. He pushed a fist into his lips and curled in on himself, his bad arm squeezing his knees to his chest in the big, expensive leather plane seats and, at some point, his laughs turned into shoulder shaking sobs. Conner couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, that the shift happened, only that it did and only that it made something feel like it was stabbing Conner viciously in the lungs.

He glanced helplessly at Kori but she had her head ducked down and fingers weaved in Gar’s soft green hair and Tim was only loud, Conner realized, to  _ him _ . Because Conner had become so painfully accustomed to listening for him that he hadn’t realized how soft Tim actually was until then. 

Dick would have hugged him, Conner thought, and Kori probably would have done the same. But Conner felt so very awkward even sitting there and hugging seemed as though it wasn’t something Tim particularly wanted at that moment. It seemed mostly important to remind him that he wasn’t alone, even as his face shown red against his pale cheeks and as his face buried itself into the crook of his elbow. 

He held on tight when Conner slipped his hand over his own and squeezed. “I’m sorry we weren’t faster.” Conner whispered and pulled himself closer, so that he was out of his seat that was across from Tim and beside him instead. He didn’t let go, even as he slung an arm around the back of his chair and didn’t touch, he wouldn’t touch unless Tim asked him to except for his hand. 

“Me too.” Tim said almost petulantly into his own skin. 

But Conner knew what he was actually saying. He knew he would be blaming himself the same way Conner was. If Tim had only stopped trying to convince everyone of what was happening than, perhaps, he could have intervened quicker. Gotten to Haiti faster. But Conner didn’t think the Obeah Man would have stopped even if Tim  _ had _ . Tim would have simply, unfortunately, been a part of his scrapbook of misery. 

Conner said nothing, though. It was neither the time nor the place for such a thing to be said. He squeezed Tim’s hand in his own once more, let him hold on tight as tight as he needed, and tipped his head back against the leather of the seat, counting down the seconds until they would land back in Gotham and things could, perhaps, go back to some semblance of normal. 

\--

Dick didn’t come outright and say it so much as he planted the idea into Bruce’s head when they landed. “He did good.” Dick had said, back slumped where he was sitting in  _ Bruce’s _ seat in front of the Batcomputer, keeping an eye on the city with a twirl of his chair. He didn’t look at Bruce when he spoke, but Bruce thought that the two of them had worked long enough and well enough together to know when the other was fishing. 

“His reasoning skills are impressive.” Bruce conceded but, really, they were. Bruce had grown painfully used to being the smartest person in any given room, even if it was a part he wasn’t always allowed to play. Dick shot him a sideways glance with a small smirk pulling at the left side of his face. 

Perhaps Bruce was  _ never _ the smartest person in any room. Not when Dick looked at him like that and Bruce realized, suddenly, that he had walked into an emotional trap. He would have hated Dick for it if he wasn’t so endlessly impressed by him. “Impressive,” Dick hummed and pressed the space bar on the computer so that the aerial view of the city disappeared into the spinning circles of the Bat Symbol. Bruce remembered Dick pulling over his own chair when he was younger and demanding Bruce name everything in the cave in the most ridiculous of ways. Things were easier then. Less complicated and messy and painful. Bruce missed it - missed  _ him _ \- even if he would never say it aloud. “That’s a big compliment coming from you.” 

It  _ was _ a big compliment coming from Bruce. 

Bruce had never met anyone with as intuitive deductive reasoning skills as Tim Drake. He had watched him fight, fought alongside him even, and though the boy’s movements were choppy and a bit rusty they had a strong basis in being  _ good _ . It wasn’t even necessarily the way he fought, he wasn’t cold and aggressive like Jason was, or fluid and showy like Dick, but calculating and rough. Tim Drake seemed to catalogue every single move of his opponent, he took his time, let them believe they were winning, and then outmaneuvered them with a clever side step, slip up, or quick movement. “He works well with your team.” Bruce said instead of allowing Dick to pull any more conclusions from his silence than he probably already had. 

“Yeah, Kori was telling me how well he played off of Conner and Gar.” 

Bruce often found it interesting how Dick prefered working with a team over working by himself. Dick had never liked sharing much of anything when he was younger, be it a toy, secrets or the spotlight. But Dick had an unfailing ability to pull people together and inspire loyalty. Bruce had seen it when Dick had worked first with Wally West and Roy Harper, and then when he had formed the Teen Titans with Donna Troy, Dawn Grainger, and Hank Hall. And now, even if Jason wouldn’t talk to him, he had only paid Bruce any bit of attention when Dick had begged him to do it. Loyalty and trust, Bruce mused, two things that no one easily handed over to the Batman. “Kori seems like an asset.” 

Dick’s cheeks flushed and Bruce felt amusement climb up his spine. 

He had noticed it, of course, in the subtle gestures, the communication without words, the brush of fingertips. His ward was in love. Not the sort of love he had given Barbara when they were children, or Dawn when he was a little bit older, but the sort of love that Bruce begrudgingly felt for Selina. Dick shrugged and spun the chair to look at him, brows furrowed and brown eyes looking for something that Bruce wasn’t sure existed. “He has no where to go.” He said it softly, a statement rather than a question. 

Bruce heard the question anyway. “I can’t.” He said after a moment of thought. “Not after Jason.” 

“Jason’s eighteen.” Dick reminded him. “And he’ll come around once he figures his shit out.” 

Bruce wasn’t so sure. Dick hadn’t been there for the majority of the events leading up to Jason’s departure and had only recently popped back up to help to try and smooth things over. “I won’t train him.” 

Dick narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. Not conceding or challenging, simply acknowledging Bruce’s feelings in a way that most others tended to ignore. He smiled then, slow and real and Bruce wanted to slam his face into the desk for whatever he had unintentionally given away. Dick shrugged. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.” 

“Dick.” 

“ _ Bruce _ ,” Dick teased. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.” 

He’ll help. Bruce’s tension dissipated at the admission. “I don’t think you’d be able to keep him and Superboy apart otherwise.” 

Dick nodded his head in agreement. “You saw that too?” 

“They’re very good friends.” 

Dick coughed a laugh into his shoulder. “ _ Friends _ , right.” Bruce narrowed his eyes and Dick simply waved him away. “You’re still allowed to foster right? Like your license didn’t expire or anything?” 

“No.” 

“Great. I’ll call Babs to set it up.” 

\--

The beeping was getting annoying and  _ he _ wasn’t even the one hooked up to machines. The walls in Gotham General’s long term care unit were just as white as the ones in Haiti had been, just as sterile and disinfected and just as painfully  _ boring _ to be stuck in. Not that Tim was stuck there but, well, it felt like sitting by his father’s bedside was where he was expected to be. To be completely fair, Tim wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing now that everything had happened. Batman had brought in the Obeah Man for prosecution, clinging to life on a ventilator but living nonetheless, and Tim had brought home his parents. One practically a vegetable and the other in a plain wooden box straight to the coroner’s office. 

Theoretically, Tim would have to start planning Janet’s funeral once the autopsy was done. He would have to figure out where he was going to live, if he could legally file for emancipation if his father was in a coma and unable to fight against it, or what would even happen to the company and their holdings without either of the Drake’s around to run things. He shifted in his seat and tipped his head back against the argyle of the chair. He would make a list, Tim was good at lists, and then work on checking things off, one day, one hour, one minute at a time. 

Except he was so  _ tired. _

He was tired in a way he had never been tired before. He was tired down to the center of his very being, tired in a way that he couldn’t even put into words. It… it was like he had just woken up from a very long and involved dream. The sort of dream where he had done too much to allow himself to rest and, instead woke up more exhausted as he had been when he had gone to bed in the first place. 

Not that Tim had slept for what was, perhaps, too long. 

He was running on empty. 

And no one at the hospital would even bring him a coffee so he had a raging caffeine headache to go along with his exhaustion. “It’s a myth that it stunts your growth, you know.” Tim said to no one, his father’s machines beep, beep, beeping in his ear. “I’m just genetically predisposed to be short which, really, is your fault. Why couldn’t you be even, like, six foot? Why do you  _ and _ mom have to be under five eight?” Well, it wasn’t like there was anything Tim could do about the hand genetics had dealt him. He was always going to be short but he was beginning to use that to his advantage. “What I really don’t understand, though…. How did he get you? You and mom are always so cautious.” 

Tim chewed on his bottom lip and paused as though giving his father time to respond. He didn’t respond. Shocker. “And why did you  _ lie _ to me? You said you were going to a dig in Cairo but there  _ was _ no dig in Cairo.” Tim looked, sideways at his father, laid out in the bed with steady breathing and deep dark brown under his eyes. “Who am I kidding?” Tim snorted and tossed his feet onto the bed by his father’s side. “You’re never going to tell me. You guys never told me anything. You never even wanted a kid except to save your marriage and even then it was a bandaid fix when you realized that you would have to actually take  _ care _ of the kid.” His father looked old where he was laying, and if Tim wanted to he could count the deep lines in his face and see that they worked like the rings on a tree in showing Tim exactly how old he was. “I don’t know how I feel about you, you know?” Tim scratched at the tip of his nose, felt the pull of the stitches in his arm, and sighed again. “I wish I was quicker for mom but… I don’t think I’m as sad as I should be that you’re both, essentially, gone. You were never really there to begin with anyway.” 

“Tim,” He jumped, he hadn’t heard anyone come into the room but, then again, he shouldn’t have expected to hear or register someone trained by Batman entering any room. Dick Grayson slumped against the door jam, arms crossed over his chest and expression soft. “Can I come in?” Tim’s feet slapped against the floor as he sat up, cheeks flushed. Had he heard the entire one sided conversation? If he had, Tim was happy he had stopped him when he did. He was about two minutes away from ranting about his feelings for one specific half alien and, really, Tim didn’t want anyone to know about those until he figured out what to do with them himself. 

Tim nodded and made a face at the greasy feeling of his hair. He hadn’t taken a shower since Haiti either and he was suddenly worried that he smelled. Dick waited until Tim had shifted to the foot of his father’s bed to sit where he had been, an ease to his movements that Tim had always been envious of. He was wearing a red shirt, bright and with a Flash emblem in the corner. “How’s your dad doing?” Dick asked softly, as though speaking louder than a whisper would break some tightly strung string that held everything together. 

It wasn’t the time or place for a tightrope act and Tim didn’t have the energy to be subtle. “That’s not why you’re really here.” Dick flinched as though struck and Tim blinked. Maybe that  _ was _ why he was there. Maybe Dick Grayson really was just being nice and Tim had spent so much of his life having to second guess everyone’s motives. “Sorry that’s… that’s not fair.” 

“None of this fair.” Dick countered after a moment of silent contemplation where he stared at Tim’s hands more than at Tim. His stitches itched as if his eyes irritated them. “You’re right though. That’s… not really why I’m here.” 

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Tim reassured slowly, fingernails picking at the corner of his father’s hospital bed. 

“No one would believe you if you did.” Dick hitched the corner of his mouth into a small smile. “I think we all owe you an apology.” Dick continued, his smile fading into a tiny upturn to his mouth. He looked awfully handsome with a smile, Tim noticed absently. “I can’t speak for everyone else but… I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry… no one listened to you. I’ve…” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I’ve been there.” 

Tim met his gaze, blue to brown, and felt how truly exhausted he was. Not just physically. 

The apology was appreciated, even if it felt almost unnecessary. “It’s…” It wasn’t okay. He couldn’t find the word for what it was. His mother was dead, his father was in a coma, and no one had listened to the crazy, lonely child that was too smart for his own good. 

Dick nodded as though he understood what Tim was trying to say without him needing to say it. “When I first met Jason,” He abruptly changed the topic and Tim looked up at him through his long eyelashes. Dick’s eyes were far, far away. “I was unreasonably angry that he was wearing my suit.” 

My suit.  _ My _ suit. 

Of course, Tim’s mind clicked, a moment too slow but Tim blamed the bone deep exhaustion for not being able to follow quicker. For a moment he thought Dick was talking about a formal suit, blazer, slacks, button down, tie. But, no, Dick was talking about Robin. About a suit and a title and a position. “I wasn’t upset with Jason and I tried not to show him but I think it still… it still leaked through.” Dick rubbed at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t in a good place back then. With… everything. And Jason got the brunt of whatever problems were between me and Bruce. The title, the mantle whatever you want to call it,” Dick glanced up at him and then back down at his hands. “It wasn’t Bruce’s to give. I quit working with him, not…” 

“Not being Robin.” Tim filled in the blank he couldn’t. Dick’s eyes shot to his father and then back to him, eyebrows raised. “He’s in a coma. If he can even hear us and remembers it he’s not even going to know it was  _ me _ sitting here.” 

“He’s not very… present is he?” 

“Was Bruce Wayne?” 

Dick ducked his head with a small laugh. “I used to think he wasn’t. But I think he just… he did his best.” 

Tim shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “My parents had me to save their marriage. It didn’t, really, work past a few months.” Tim scratched at his cheek and looked anywhere but at Dick’s face. He didn’t know  _ why _ \- he had said the truth of the matter plenty of times before but with Dick it felt like an emotional admission to something he wasn’t quite prepared for. “They couldn’t just get rid of me after that but… they didn’t know how to raise a kid. So they did the only thing they could think of - hired a nanny and went travelling. They’re not… they’re not  _ bad _ parents.” Tim felt the need to inform him. Felt like he had to defend his parents from whatever Dick would dish out. “They’re just not  _ available _ .” 

Dick’s face kept the small smile painted to it and he took Tim’s words for what they were without asking for more. “Robin was something my mother called me when I was growing up.” He said a word then, something fanciful and dancing on the curl of his tongue. It was foreign, a word Tim didn’t recognize. “I chose it when I started working with Bruce. It was mine.” 

“I get it.” It must have felt like Bruce had just shoved a hand inside of Dick’s chest and pulled out the part that he thought belonged to him. 

“It wasn’t Bruce’s to give.” Dick looked at him then, eyes boring into his and searching for something Tim wasn’t sure he’d find. “It’s mine.” 

It prickled on the edge of Tim’s awareness. A question that hadn’t been asked yet and the answer Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to give. It had been something he had wanted when he was a child, like every other child in Gotham and he knew just looking at Dick that he wouldn’t ask it. Not outright. Not in public. Not where everyone could hear them. “Bruce has agreed to foster you until your dad wakes up.” He stood then, placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Think it over but, regardless of what your answer is, you’re safe now. And you’re not alone. Never again.” 

\--

They had spent over a month in Gotham and Conner, while he desperately missed Krypto, wasn’t ready to leave. Or, rather, he wasn’t ready to leave Tim. They had all attended the funeral, Conner a row behind Tim in the service, Gar’s shoulder pressed into his own and Kori’s hand gently curled around his wrist. Rose, Dawn and Hank had been a row behind them, heads bowed in silent solidarity. Jason had been in the very back of the room, arms crossed and sunglasses on and he had left quickly after Rose had gotten up to speak to him. Rachel hadn’t arrived back from Themyscra until that afternoon, hair shorter and skin tanner and hope in her voice that she  _ had _ learned things and managed to bring Donna back. She was being nursed back to full help by her people and Rachel had plenty of stories to tell anyone that would listen. 

She had hugged Dick for a full five minutes after arriving in Gotham and then hugged Gar for a full ten and she slid in with the rest of the team, like she was something that had been extremely missed. Conner hadn’t known her for as long, though. Hadn’t gotten to know her, to train with her, to bond with her the way the others had. It wasn’t that he didn’t  _ like _ Rachel, she seemed perfectly nice and unproblematic. It was just that he didn’t  _ know _ her. And Conner didn’t necessarily like playing nice with people he didn’t know. 

That was something he was learning about himself. 

Something he  _ had _ learned about himself in the month since he had arrived in Gotham. 

Rachel had brought a friend too, it seemed. A tall blonde girl with cascading curls, a deep tan and golden lasso on her hip. She wore Donna’s costume and had Donna’s powers but she was young, and quiet, and she looked at Conner as though he were something interesting to learn. Cassie Sandsmark, or so she had introduced herself. She had looked only mildly put off when he had simply forced a smile in her general direction. 

Currently, Conner was on the roof of Wayne Manor, wind blowing through his hair and smog from the city blocking the stars from view. It was nice, though, even if it  _ was _ cold. Conner almost wished they were back in Haiti, for the warmth and breaking waves, but also for the time he had to breathe and exist without expectation there. He loved working with a team, loved Kori and Dick and Gar and, perhaps, the others. But they were exhausting in a way he hadn’t realized until he had taken time away from them. 

He startled at a sound, a soft clamoring of someone up the fire escape, with a heartbeat he intimately recognized. Something settled deep within his bones as though it had been tense and uneasy until he had a moment with Tim alone again. 

Perhaps that was the problem, Conner thought. They had arrived back in Gotham and the two of them had been whisked into separate whirlwinds. Tim slipped on a step, caught himself with a startled breath and came all the way up. He was wearing a jacket, hair a mess but nearly cleaned, and leather gloves closed over his fingers. Conner hated to think about it, but he was glad that he couldn’t see the stitches on his arm. He didn’t think he could stomach staring at them for an extended period of time. “Hey,” Conner greeted him softly as Tim shook out a blanket that he had carried up with him. 

His lips pulled up into the shadow of a smile. He still looked so tired, so ready to collapse at any moment, but he had been getting some rest. Conner had been monitoring his breathing. He looked at Conner through his long eyelashes, his cheeks red from the cold. “This is very different from Haiti isn’t it?” 

Conner chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s colder.” 

“And more air pollution.” Tim settled down beside him, warm falling over Conner’s arms when he draped the blanket over them. He hadn’t even realized he was cold. Tim’s head was tipped upwards in the direction of the Bat Symbol dancing golden against the clouds and he fit in Gotham. In a way that he hadn’t in Haiti. The way Conner had yet to fit anywhere. “Less murderous voodoo priests though.” Tim wrinkled his nose at his own dark joke. “But this is Gotham so… who really knows.” 

Conner snorted despite himself. It wasn’t  _ really _ funny. Tim had lost both of his parents, even if one was still breathing on their own. But he wasn’t  _ wrong _ . It was Gotham. Who really knew what odd sorts of people it had crawling in its depths. “Are you really moving in with Bruce Wayne full time?” Conner asked it because he didn’t know what else he was supposed to ask. 

“Are you really leaving tomorrow morning?” Tim countered with his head rolling against his shoulder to meet Conner’s eyes with his own sparkling blue orbs. Conner thought they were turning into his favorite shade of blue. 

“Are you really going to be  _ Robin _ ?” 

“Haven’t decided yet.” Tim shrugged and leaned back on his hands. “Jason would probably shoot me if I tried.” 

“Jason doesn’t get to make that decision for you.” 

“Hmm,” Tim hummed and his eyes shut for a long enough moment that Conner began to think he had started to fall asleep. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” 

“Yeah? How?” 

“There’s this new thing called cell phones, Con.” Tim smiled a lopsided smile, the moon lighting up the side of his face and sparkling off his teeth. “I’ll text you.” 

“I don’t…” Conner’s cheeks flushed, suddenly embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t have the one thing that every other teenager seemed to. Was Conner a teenager? Or was he a toddler? Did it even matter, in the long run? “I don’t have a cell phone.” 

Tim’s mouth formed a silent o and he twitched his lips again. “I’ll tell Dick to let you know, then.” 

“You… you have Dick’s number?” 

“He said he’d train me.” Tim said with a small shrug. “We traded numbers after dinner. Just in case we don’t see each other before you leave tomorrow.” 

Leaving. They were leaving tomorrow. 

It hit Conner like a ton of bricks, then. “I  _ will _ see you again.” He said it like the statement it was. Conner wasn’t  _ asking _ . He  _ would _ see Tim again. Even if he had fly to Gotham and force the meeting it would happen. There was no way, Conner vowed to himself, that this meeting on the rooftop would be the last time they saw one another. 

“But just in case you don’t.” 

“Tim -.” 

There was a soft press of lips against the corner of his mouth and it took Conner perhaps a moment too long to discover that he was being kissed. Tim was kissing him. Gentle and undemanding and slightly chapped but a kiss all the same. 

Conner had never been kissed before. 

His heart jumped into his throat, pulled at his lungs and pounded against his ribs. It felt simultaneously like jumping high enough to catch Jason as he fell, standing in an ocean of cornfields, and standing on a beach with waves crashing over the tops of his feet. Neither of them knew what they were doing, Conner only had memories that weren’t his own to pull from and Tim, Conner thought, was much too young to have done anything like it before. Or so the movies Conner had seen told him. Fifteen was either the age where people became extremely familiar with kissing and bodily functions, or it was when they were stumbling their way through awkward teenage encounters. Tim, it seemed, was determined to be dancing between the line of both. 

Conner puckered his lips the way he had seen people in movies do because it felt like the only correct course of action and Tim pulled away with sparkling blue eyes like the stars that failed to shine over Gotham. He smiled, with a small dimple in his left cheek and Conner kissed him again, more fully on the lips and still as awkward but his stomach still swooped. 

They didn’t go inside for hours to come and only minutes of that was spent staring up at the clouds. 

\--

**_Six Months Later_ **

\--

Conner’s feet pounded against the pavement, Cassie in step beside him with her blonde ponytail whacking against her upper back. Dick had told them to stay in pursuit. No powers, no giving them away, just a steady stream of pursuit. Conner was getting tired of just  _ pursuing _ . He wondered, almost desperately and petulantly, for action. He wanted nothing more than to  _ do _ something. Inaction was starting to drive him insane. 

Things had gotten both better and worse ever since they had left Gotham. Better as in the team was working stunningly well together. Worse as in the team was starting to drive Conner insane. They wanted either Superman or Lex Luthor from him and Conner was well aware that he was neither of them. “This guy’s entering a public place.” Cassie said into her coms, breathless just for show. She loved training with Conner almost as much as he loved training with her - they were a pretty equal match strength wise. Conner didn’t have to worry about harming her any more than she had to worry about harming him. “What’s the move Nightwing?” 

“Pursue only.” Dick’s voice crackled into his ear and Conner choked on the annoyance it spiked in him. “Do not engage.” 

“We  _ never _ engage.” Conner growled. 

Cassie cocked an eyebrow at him but said nothing in response, her feet a steady rhythm besides his own. “Not now Conner.” Dick cautioned in his ear. 

He blinked and the man they were chasing was gone, lost in the sea of people in the shopping market and nowhere to be found. Conner kicked a trash can and his foot made a sizable dent in the metal. “Relax, _ Hulk _ ,” Cassie said with a scoff and small smile to lessen the sting of her words. “Dick do we have any idea where this guy is?” 

“Robin,” Dick’s voice echoed and, almost instantly, goosebumps crawled up his spine. “You’re up.”

There wasn’t a word said in response, wasn’t anything but a swift shift in the air. But Conner would recognize that heartbeat anywhere. 

He dropped from the rafters, his suit a deep red and black with straps of yellow in an x across his chest and snapped out his wrist, a bo staff clicking itself into a long, straight line. Cassie straightened almost immediately. “We’re actually meeting Robin right now?” 

Conner smiled, pulling at the corners of his mouth until it covered his entire face. Tim, Robin, smirked over his shoulder at them, staff resting on the one opposite. He winked beneath his mask. “Miss me, Superboy?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! For now! Keep an eye out for a part two - I'm thinking it'll focus more on Conner figuring out who he is aside from part Superman and part Lex and heavily featuring our boys working together.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I even bother going on? Is anyone even reading this? Oh well see you with chapter two!


End file.
